


The Long Walk

by fallingwthstyle



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Illustrations, M/M, South Park Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingwthstyle/pseuds/fallingwthstyle
Summary: Based on the premise of the Richard Bachman/Stephen King novel of the same title. AU. In a future dystopian America there is only one sporting event, the annual Long Walk. Over a trillion dollars is wagered on it each year. Fifteen teenage boys begin this grueling contest but only one can win the ultimate prize; the others will pay the ultimate price. Kenny enters for the second year in a row hoping to use his unique ability to win his family a fortune. He didn't plan on falling in love. Originally written for the South Park Big Bang 2016 with illustrations by mio and Maud W. Cover image by mio.





	1. Mile 0

  


mio

MaudW

CHAPTER ONE - MILE 0

Carol McCormick drove the family's almost new SUV through a gate where a soldier checked her fake ID without incident over to the far end of the field. Kenny awoke and sat up in the back seat blinking, realizing with a disorienting jolt that he'd slept a lot longer than he had planned to. He had thought he was too nervous to sleep for very long when he had felt himself dozing off last night and was sure he would wake up while they were still on the road, driving all night to get here in time.

Instead, it was early morning and they had arrived at their destination. He rubbed his eyes and asked, "What time is it?" The sight of a dozen military jeeps and over thirty armed soldiers a hundred feet away was bringing it all home to him with alarming suddenness. _This is it, this is happening, this is finally happening._

His mother turned to look at him, obviously nervous and wanting to leave as soon as possible. "It's 7:25," she told him, holding out the placard that he expected to be wearing around his neck for the next two days. "We're over an hour and a half early. Here…" She held up the black nylon cord, intent on putting it on him and getting him out of the SUV as quickly as she could. "Put this on."

Kenny nodded agreeably and ducked his head, letting her place the placard (which read _"6 – Cramer"_ ) over his neck, wondering again what number he would be if it was displaying his real last name. The signboard in place, he reached for the backpack he'd been using a few moments ago as a pillow but his father was quicker, grabbing the backpack by one of its straps and pulling it against himself. Kenny glared hatefully at his dad, who had spent the last four hours getting shitfaced on a $300 bottle of scotch while Kenny had been sleeping…it'd be nothing but the best for the McCormick family from now on.

"Don't get out yet, Kenny," Stuart McCormick slurred, holding the backpack even tighter. "We've got plenty of time. Let's go over this again."

"Stuart, hush your mouth," Carol said, turning away to look out the windshield at the imposing military presence a short distance away. The two Army Police cars that had escorted them all night to make sure they arrived were parked just outside the gate. She was exhausted after driving all night and anxious to leave; the last thing she wanted to do right now was to get into a fight with her drunk husband. "You know Kenny can't be seen with us. He knows what he's doing, and we've been over it a million times already. Now be quiet and let him have his things."

Kenny smirked, his hatred for his father ratcheting up another level as he took his backpack and pulled it into his lap. He'd said goodbye to his brother and sister ten hours ago, and now it had finally come down to this: his final moments with his parents. He'd rehearsed his next line in this scene dozens of times in his head over the past several weeks.

"I want to come back to life in satin sheets this time, ma." He looked at her expectantly, and she looked away sadly and nodded.

"I know, honey," Carol replied. "I promise you will."

"You will as long as you don't fuck this up," Stuart said, turning away to lean the side of his head against the window and close his eyes dismissively. Kenny looked at him coldly for a moment and finally shook his head and turned away.

There was nothing left to say. Kenny leaned forward to give his mom a quick kiss on the cheek, opened the door and stepped out into the chilly dawn. He looked into the SUV at his father one last time. He wanted to scream at the miserable old bastard: _Really, dad? Fifty fucking hours?_ But they'd had this fight enough times already; there was no point in rehashing it again now. It is what it is, and there was nothing any of them could do to change things.

"Bye mom, I love you," he said and slammed the door. Carol started the vehicle almost immediately and pulled away, turning around to drive through the gate they'd just gone through. The two police cars drove off as well, evidently satisfied that he made it all the way to his destination. He watched until they were out of sight and there was nothing left for him to do but head toward the other end of the field, where people were beginning to gather. Several vans with network news logos and satellite dishes on their roofs were parked nearby and people were setting up large cameras and other equipment. He stopped at yet another gate (this one complete with a metal detector and manned by three menacing-looking soldiers, all with rifles slung over their shoulders, beneath a sign reading _Please have your IDs ready and present all backpacks for inspection_ ) where his ID was scanned, he was thoroughly frisked, and his bag searched. He had a moment of worry when they were checking his fake ID, but it was handed back to him a moment later without comment.

"Do you have any weapons of any kind?" the soldier rifling through his things asked. Kenny noted he was actually being respectful of the contents of his backpack, carefully moving the bologna sandwiches his mom had packed for him aside to look behind them.

"No sir," Kenny replied. The soldier returned his backpack with a terse nod, perhaps meant to convey 'good luck'. He walked through the gate and looked around, spotting a group of about a dozen other teenaged boys scattered in front of a small elevated stage complete with a podium and microphone. Most of them seemed to be keeping to themselves, but Kenny spotted two who were speaking animatedly to each other, each with a backpack at their feet. One was tall, dark-haired and athletic-looking with a placard reading _9 - Marsh_ hanging from his neck over a plain white tee shirt; the other was a smaller kid with a closely-cropped red jewfro ( _3 – Broflovski_ ) who was laughing about something 'Marsh' was saying. These two seemed like they might be friendly, and Kenny angled toward them.

Another boy, a heavyset mean-looking brunette ( _4 - Cartman_ ) stepped into his path and blocked him. "Well, look what the cat dragged in!" Kenny turned to him, uncertain if he was just being fucked with or if 'Cartman' seriously thought he was going to get away with trying to bully him. "You look like someone I would have stolen lunch money from."

Kenny noticed that a few of the boys, including the two he'd been walking toward, were watching them. He turned back to Cartman and said, "Yeah? Well, I would have told you I left my lunch money on your mom's dresser."

Broflovski burst out laughing at that, while Cartman's eyes darkened in anger. He seemed as if he was about to reply when Marsh interrupted him. "Oh, just shut up, fatass. You're not impressing anyone."

Kenny gave him a grateful look, and turned back to Cartman. "He's right. Besides, you're not worth getting shot over…at least not before the race starts. Go fuck with someone else." He brushed past a stunned-looking Cartman and joined the two he'd been walking toward a moment ago. "Hi, I'm Kenny." He offered Marsh his hand.

"Stan." He gave Kenny a friendly smile and they shook hands. "And this is Kyle."

"Did you two know each other before today?" Kenny asked as he shook Kyle's hand. The idea seemed impossible, that two friends would enter the Long Walk together, but the easygoing way in which they had been talking a few moments ago made it seem as if they'd known each other for a long time.

"Nope," Stan replied. "We just met about an hour ago. Guess we kind of hit it off pretty quick." He shuffled his feet nervously. "My dad kept telling me not to make any friends here, because of how fucked up it'll be watching them get taken out of the race…but that seems stupid. I think you should have someone to talk to during a thing like this, don't you?"

Kenny nodded, pleased that it appeared they were going to be friends. "Mine told me the same thing." He grinned. "I decided not to listen either."

"Let's sit down," Kyle said. "You know, conserve our energy?"

They sat down cross-legged in a circle of three, holding their backpacks in their laps and began talking, about where they were from (Kyle had traveled the farthest to be here, all the way from Connecticut), and how they'd ended up being one of fifteen (out of hundreds of applicants) to be selected to take part in this year's Long Walk.

"I guess one reason I wanted to do this," Stan said half-jokingly, "is that I've never seen the Rocky Mountains before. Hell, I've never seen anything higher than a small hill."

"That's a really screwed up reason for doing this," Kyle replied, grimacing. "I'm here for a chance at the prize, nothing more. Enough money…"

"…to buy anything I could ever want, for the rest of my life," Kenny and Stan finished the Long Walk's recruitment slogan for him, and they smiled at each other.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Kenny used the opportunity to look around. He had never seen mountains before either, and the Rocky Mountains (as viewed from a field on the side of Interstate 70 a few miles east of Aurora, Colorado) were pretty impressive. The rising sun was lighting up the snowcapped tops of the higher peaks. He almost wished he wouldn't be walking away from them in a couple hours.

  


MaudW

His attention was drawn a moment later from the scenery back to the gate he'd gone through a few minutes ago. Another boy was having his backpack searched, and Kenny's first thought on seeing him was _what the fuck is he doing here?_ The new arrival looked about 17, the same age as Kenny, but he seemed too frail for this, rubbing his knuckles together nervously as a soldier searched through his things. Kenny could barely make out his name from here, _12 – Stotch_. The backpack was returned and he carried it through the gate, setting it beside his boots as he looked around. His backpack seemed unusually heavy. He and Kenny made eye contact, and after a moment he picked his pack up again and began walking toward Kenny and his new friends.

Cartman had spotted him too, and stepped in front of him, blocking his path when he was a dozen feet away. "Look what the cat dragged in this time!" the larger boy said gleefully, taking a menacing step toward him.

Stan sighed. "Guess he's going to welcome everyone this way." Kenny was watching with interest to see how Stotch was going to handle this. What happened next was a complete surprise.

"If you get any closer, I'm going to shout for one of the soldiers!" Stotch said angrily. It almost sounded rehearsed, but at least it got Cartman's attention as he halted and looked around nervously. Interfering with another walker was against the rules and could get him disqualified before the contest even began. Stan and Kyle were watching the scene unfold as well.

"Oh, a little _narc_ , huh?" Cartman sneered, trying to regain control of the situation. "I had you pegged for a pussy the moment I saw you."

"Not really!" Broflovski called over to them. "It's not like he'd be getting you sent to the principal's office…unless the principal at your school had the power to execute kids who caused trouble. Threatening to get you shot sounds pretty badass to me."

Kenny chuckled. "Ooh…burn."

The scene had caught the attention of a couple of the soldiers, and one of them strode over and stepped between Cartman and Stotch. "You should move along," the soldier told Cartman in a tone that made it clear he wouldn't put up with any argument. Cartman's lips tightened and he turned and hurried away.

"Thank you, sir," Stotch said, but the soldier was already walking away, ignoring him. The small blond looked nervously down at the ground again.

"Hey," Kenny called over to him. "You can hang out with us if you want to."

Stotch looked at him anxiously for a moment, then came over and sat down next to him, his backpack hitting the ground beside him with a solid thud. Kenny thought again that it seemed extremely heavy. "M—my dad told me I shouldn't make friends here…" he said sadly while he studied his shoelaces.

"So did ours', dude," Stan replied. "We were just talking about that. It looks like we all said 'fuck it' and decided to anyway."

Stotch nodded, still looking down and grinding his knuckles together.

"So, Stotch," Kenny said, hoping to make him feel more at ease. This kid seemed like a nervous wreck. "What's your first name? I'm Kenny."

The blond boy looked up and met his eyes. Kenny thought that of all the boys he'd seen here so far today, this one seemed the least likely to win this year's walk.

"I'm Leo…Leopold," Stotch replied. "But my friends back home call me 'Butters'."

"Well, hey Butters," Stan said, once again introducing himself and his friend.

"You don't seem quite cut out for this," Kyle observed. "I mean, no offense, but…"

"Well, I…" Butters trailed off, and Kenny was about to conclude he was just nervous or shy, but Butters surprised him when he added with more than a trace of defiance in his voice, "You might just be surprised!"

Kenny nodded, thinking that if nothing else this kid was fucking _cute_ , and Kenny thought that talking to him over the next couple days (or however long Butters managed to last) could be interesting. "So, Butters…where do you hail from?"

Butters told him that he was from a small town in West Virginia, and the four of them talked while the sun rose higher in the sky. Stan stood up a few minutes later, holding a hand over his eyebrows to block the sun as he looked toward the east.

"Hey guys," he said. "It looks like shit's about to start getting real."

Kenny looked in the same direction Stan was. Both sides of the interstate had been closed for the Long Walk, and he could see a motorcade with over a dozen vehicles driving the wrong way in the eastbound lane toward them, red and blue lights flashing on top of several of them. The motorcade arrived a minute later, and several men in business suits climbed out, one of them opening a door on an obviously heavily armored vehicle. Kenny recognized the President of the United States as he climbed out and began walking toward the podium surrounded by half a dozen men all wearing sunglasses. The group of boys fell silent as he climbed the steps and took his place at the podium; half a dozen cameras were trained on him, broadcasting his arrival to the world.

"Good morning!" he said into the microphone. "If we can settle down, I have a couple of announcements and then we can get started." Two of the soldiers were carrying several boxes from one of the vehicles onto the stage and set them next to the President as he removed some notes from his coat pocket. "We'll begin with what I know you're all anxious to hear. All government-sanctioned betting for this year's Long Walk has ended, and I can now announce the amount of the grand prize…" He paused dramatically, holding up a slip of paper. "This year's prize for the winner of the Long Walk is…" another pause, and Kenny rolled his eyes; enough with the dramatics already. "Three hundred forty one billion, five hundred seventy eight million—"

An excited rumble went through the small gathering in front of the President, and Kenny stopped listening after that. He suspected they were all thinking roughly the same thing: For the first time in the history of The Long Walk, the prize for the winner had exceeded a third of a trillion dollars; when the number was _that_ big, the exact amount was superfluous. One of this group of fifteen kids Kenny was now a part of was going to be rich beyond their wildest dreams in less than a week, with more money than any one person should be able to spend in a lifetime.

The President waited until the hubbub had died down and continued, looking back down at his notes. "Next is something I am required by law to do. You should all already be extremely familiar with the rules of the Long Walk, but I am required to repeat them to you now. They are as follows: You will all line up together across the width of the eastbound lane of Interstate 70, and at 9:00 AM this Monday morning, you will begin walking. You must maintain a minimum speed of three and a half miles per hour. The watches you'll be wearing—" he turned to look at the two soldiers beside him opening boxes and removing small items from them. "—allow us to track each one of you. If you slow down below that threshold at any point, you will be given a verbal warning. You will have thirty seconds to get your speed above 3.5 miles per hour again; if you fail to do so, or if you slow down again within one hour's time, you will receive a second warning. If you accumulate _three_ warnings and slow below the 3.5 miles per hour threshold a fourth time, you will be eliminated from the race by way of immediate execution via at least two gunshots to the head. If you have one or more warnings and can walk one hour without receiving another one, one warning will be taken away. Remember: It is possible to be walking with three warnings, and if you can walk three hours without receiving another one, you will be back at zero again."

Kenny looked around; a complete silence had fallen over the small crowd. Of course they all knew the rules, but it was sobering to hear them being read aloud by the most powerful man in the world.

The President continued: "There are no rest breaks of any kind. You cannot stop to sleep, eat, answer nature's call, etcetera. You can _do_ those things as long as you maintain the minimum speed when you do, or receive one warning every thirty seconds, ending in the consequences I just set forth." Kenny's heart was racing. The President was nearing the end of his remarks (he knew because he'd heard the same speech exactly one year ago in this very spot) and then it would be time to get started.

The President leaned over the podium, looking out at the small audience standing before him, as well as the worldwide one on the other side of the cameras. "If you are one of the walkers who end up being removed from the race, as long as you obey the rules of the Long Walk, your deaths will be quick and merciful. However, if you attempt to leave the highway to run away, attempt to attack any of the soldiers, accept any form of assistance from a spectator, physically interfere with another walker, or break the rules in any other way, you will be shot in both knees and left to die on the side of the road. If that happens, anyone, walker or spectator, attempting to help you will be shot in similar fashion. Since it may take a day or more for you to die this way, you are strongly encouraged not to break the rules. Are there any questions?"

There was an uneasy silence. Kenny looked around at the other boys sitting with him. Butters' face was almost as pale as his hair, while Stan just looked eager to get going.

"Yeah, I have a question." A chubby boy with brown hair, wearing a name tag with _7- Donovan_ had stood up and was looking around as if to make sure everyone was paying attention to him. The news cameras were trained on him as well, giving him a worldwide audience. "I've got a medical condition," he said, lifting the front of his shirt and revealing a flabby stomach as well as something no one had expected: A brown plastic pouch taped to his belly. It was clearly a colostomy bag. "I have one of these!" Donovan said. "My question is: Instead of leaving my shit in the middle of the road for some scavenger to scrape up and sell on Craigslist, can I sell it already all bagged up to a spectator?"

There was a ripple of laughter from the group of walkers at this question. Even some of the soldiers were snickering.

"I have to admit," The President replied, completely unfazed. "That's an original question! The rules say you can leave anything you want in the road, and spectators are allowed to pick up things left behind once all the walkers have gone past. One problem is that you're not allowed to accept anything from the spectators. That rule is intended to prevent them from giving you food, but they can't give you anything else either, including money. The only way to make that work would be to make arrangements with the buyer to pay you after the Long Walk has ended. So yes, that would be legal."

Donovan grinned, and it was a welcome moment of levity for them all…until Cartman ruined it a moment later by saying loudly: "You'll have to win to collect your money though, asshole." He sneered. "I bet you didn't think of that."

After a moment, the President asked again: "Are there any _more_ questions?" They looked amongst themselves, and when no one else spoke the President continued, "Then we'll get started. When I call your name, come up and get your watches and your first day's food rations and then line up across the highway. You don't have to line up in order; stay with your friends if you want."

"Here we go," Kyle said nervously, and they watched as the President began reading through the list of names. "Number one, Bill Allen." A dark-haired boy stood up and made his way toward the stage. "Number two, Trent Boyette." This time a tough looking kid who looked as though he could have spent some time in juvenile hall walked toward the stage. "Number three, Kyle Broflovski." Kyle stood and walked away from them.

The President continued reading through numbers four, Eric Cartman and five, Mark Cotswold. When he read "number six, Kenny Cramer," Kenny stood and got in line behind Cotswold, making his way up the stairs toward the two soldiers while the President continued reading off names. "Seven, Clyde Donovan; eight, Gary Harrison; nine, Stanley Marsh; ten, Fosse McDonald; eleven, Kevin Stoley; twelve, Leopold Stotch—" Kenny turned to look over his shoulder as his new friend stood, picked up his backpack and walked toward the stage. "Thirteen, Scott Tenorman; fourteen, Craig Tucker; and number fifteen—" He paused, studying the paper for a moment. "Tweek Tweak."

There was a shrill cry of surprise at the sound of that name and Kenny turned around to face forward again. A moment later Cotswold was finished and it was his turn with the soldiers. One of them strapped a military-issue watch to his left wrist while the other handed him a canteen of water and his first food ration. It was a cardboard bucket like one would get from Kentucky Fried Chicken, only this one was a dull olive drab green with _Long Walk daily ration, 3,500 calories_ written on it.

"You get one of these food buckets every morning at 9:00 AM," the soldier told him. "And you can ask for a canteen whenever you want."

Kenny nodded, looking down at his left wrist, where the other soldier was securing a metal locking clamp to the wristband of his watch with a pair of pliers.

"That's not too tight, is it?" he asked.

Kenny shook his wrist, making sure the watch had room to move and turn. "No sir."

"Okay. That watch allows us to keep track of your speed; and if you attempt to escape it will sound an alarm that can be heard from a hundred feet away." He looked at the person behind Kenny. "Now move along…the starting line is clearly marked."

Kenny took a few steps and stopped and looked down at his watch. Like the bucket of food, it too was a military green color; its LCD display showed a dual, split-screen readout. The bottom half was showing the current time down to the second (08:48:33 AM), while the top half read in much larger numbers 0.0; Kenny walked slowly toward the steps and the numbers crept upward, leveling off at 2.2 then climbed quickly to 4.3 as he hurried down the steps toward the starting line, the high-tech GPS within the watch displaying the exact speed he was walking. He stopped alongside Kyle and watched it drop back to 0.0 again.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Kyle asked, looking up from his own watch.

"Uh huh," Kenny replied. He began slowly walking in a large circle around Kyle, trying to get the display on his watch to read exactly 3.5.

Kyle observed what he was doing and remarked, "I was doing the same thing you are a minute ago; three point five miles an hour is pretty easy, dude."

"Yeah, it is," Kenny agreed, knowing Kyle would be feeling very differently about it after a couple days of doing it nonstop. Stan joined them followed by Butters a moment later, and the four of them (along with nearly all the other walkers) wandered around near the starting line, gazing at their wrists.

Kenny felt a buzzing in his pocket and reached for his cellphone. The display read: _Text message from Mom: Good luck, Kenny_.

Kenny smiled and put his phone away; they had agreed beforehand that he wouldn't reply.

"Four more minutes," Stan said, finally looking up from his watch and stopping. "Maybe we should get in line and sit down? It'll be our last chance for a while."

That seemed like a good idea, and the four of them sat on the far right side of the highway beside the white line that had been painted across the width of the asphalt. News cameras were trained on them a dozen yards away, and the jeeps were being repositioned along both side of the highway to follow the walkers in the breakdown lanes. Butters had peeled off the lid of his food bucket and was transferring its contents into his backpack; so Kenny began doing the same, inspecting each item as he removed them. There were half a dozen separate containers with labels like 'macaroni and cheese' and 'tuna salad sandwich X2', along with packages of crackers, snack cakes, and what looked like two oversized tubes of toothpaste, only one was labeled 'meatloaf' and the other 'potato salad'. Kenny picked up the tube of meatloaf, unscrewed the lid and sniffed it curiously. It smelled vaguely like meatloaf, and he squeezed a small amount of reddish paste onto his finger and tasted it.

Another walker a few feet away ( _14 – Tucker_ ) was watching him, and when he caught Kenny's eye he said, "It's like astronaut food." Kenny nodded, replaced the lid on his tube of 'meatloaf' and put it along with the rest of his rations into his backpack, leaving the now empty bucket on the road in front of him.

The President, along with his cadre of guards, came down the steps from the stage a minute later and stood a few feet behind the starting line. "One minute, walkers," he called out. "Get ready, and good luck to you all."

A few of the boys stood up, but Kenny and his group remained seated, staring at their watches as they counted down the final seconds before the start of the race. Kenny stood when there was twenty seconds to go and put his backpack on, settling it comfortably onto his shoulders. He smiled when Butters stood beside him, apparently intending to stay as close to him as possible. The President held a starter pistol over his head aimed toward the cloudless blue sky.

"This is it, guys," Stan said, and a second later the President pulled the trigger.


	2. MILES 0 - 6

CHAPTER TWO: MILES 0 – 6

The starter pistol wasn't much louder than a balloon popping, and as its feeble echoes faded, fifteen boys began walking along the width of the otherwise deserted highway toward the rising sun. It was a completely anticlimactic beginning.

Most of them were staring down at their watches. Kenny was matching his stride step for step with Butters, who was staring at his own watch. Kenny could see the upper display on it holding steady at 3.7. The jeeps began slowly rolling along the breakdown lanes on both sides, keeping pace with the walkers.

"Aaaaaaand….they're off!" one of the walkers on the other side of the highway wisecracked, and there was some nervous laughter. Even a couple of the soldiers riding along beside them grinned at that.

Kenny continued to match pace with Butters as the field slowly spread out. Most of the boys seemed intent on walking as slowly as possible and began dropping back. Only a couple seemed intent on walking faster. Butters slowly drifted toward the right edge of the highway and Kenny followed alongside him.

"Okay," Kyle said from a few feet away; Stan was right next to him, but he appeared to be speaking to anyone within earshot. "So this is it? We just… _walk?_ This is stupid."

"You won't think so in a couple days," the boy with _14 – Tucker_ around his neck said from the centerline of the highway. "When you haven't slept in two days and your feet feel like two bricks, and you've seen a few of us get shot, then talk to us about how stupid this is."

"It isn't just that," Kyle replied huffily. "This whole idea of gambling on when kids are going to get shot…it _is_ fucking stupid."

"No, it isn't," Cartman said. Having overheard them, he angled closer to insert himself into this conversation. Kenny decided to look for a way to move Butters away from him as soon as he could. "It's fucking brilliant, actually."

"How is this possibly brilliant?" Stan asked. Kyle angrily unwrapped a sandwich from his rations, taking a bite from it and throwing its container onto the asphalt.

"Well, you know the government used to tax peoples' income, right?" Kenny rolled his eyes; apparently another know-it-all was about to explain the 'benefits' of the Long Walk. "And tax their food, and their gasoline, and their property; some people had to pay half their income or more to the government every year…and the tax code was 50,000 pages long and no one understood it. It didn't matter anyway though, because no matter how much they taxed people it wasn't enough, and about the time the national debt hit forty trillion dollars the rest of the world figured out the USA was broke, and then the Long Walk was born." Butters was looking down at the pavement, eating a snack cake.

"They never came right out and said it," Cartman continued. "But you know it's true: Those countries like China and Russia who forgave most of our debt did it not just for a part of the revenue stream the Walk created. Oh hell no, they did it for the chance to see a few white round-eyed all-American boys get cut down in their prime on high definition TV, just because they slowed down one time too many."

"That's horrible," Butters said, reaching into his backpack for something else to eat. He also sped up slightly, and Kenny sped up as well to keep up with him.

"Horrible or not, he's right," Tucker replied. "Now, people just have to wager ten percent of their incomes on this…and in less than a week, a few thousand people are going to win a few hundred bucks apiece…and a couple hundred people or so, the really big rollers, will be rich beyond their wildest dreams." Kenny thought of his father, who was probably passed out in the back seat of their SUV somewhere in eastern Colorado by now. "Not to mention that jackpot that whichever one of us survives this clusterfuck will walk away with. Which is going to be me, by the way."

Kenny and Butters had pulled a dozen yards ahead of the other boys involved in that conversation. Butters seemed intent on ignoring them, but Kenny was straining to eavesdrop on their discussion as they dropped even further back.

Cartman was talking while eating a donut. "That huge jackpot that I'm going to win? That's only a quarter of what people gambled. Another quarter goes to pay winning bets…and the government keeps the rest. _That's_ why it's fucking brilliant. The masses think they're just gambling and don't even know they're actually paying taxes."

"And you don't even have to bet on when someone's going to get shot," Stan observed. "You can bet on…I dunno, who's going to win, um…"

"Or who gets shot first, or eighth, or last," Cartman said, laughing. "Or when the first person gets shot. Did you guys know the longest one of these has gone before someone got taken out was something like fourteen miles? Jesus Christ, if you can't even walk that far you shouldn't enter this."

Kenny took a drink from his canteen and looked out the corner of his eye at Butters, who was walking resolutely next to him, still staring at the pavement as it passed under their feet. Butters looked back a moment later, catching Kenny staring.

"Y—you know," Butters said hesitantly. "You don't _have_ to walk with me, if you don't want to. I…mean if you'd rather hang out with those other guys…"

Kenny's eyes narrowed. "Don't you want me to walk with you?"

"No! I mean yes. I…" He seemed to be struggling with the idea that Kenny would actually prefer to walk just with him. "I'd like it if you did," he finished softly a moment later.

"Good! Because yes, I'd rather walk next to you than those guys." He was starting to feel protective toward this smaller boy; it was similar to how he used to act around his younger sister. They smiled at each other and fell into a comfortable silence.

Over the next thirty minutes the road began to slope very slightly uphill, making walking more difficult and the horizon in front of them appear unnaturally close. Kenny watched as Tucker put a pair of earbuds attached to an MP3 player in his ears. The brown-haired boy, Donovan, who had made a fool out of himself on national television with his colostomy bag was talking to someone on a cell phone. Kenny took another drink from his canteen and sighed contentedly.

"Hey, you guys," Kyle suddenly said a few minutes later, loudly enough for his voice to carry. It was the first time Kenny had heard him say anything in at least twenty minutes. "We're going to see something really interesting up ahead in a minute."

Kenny automatically looked at the road ahead. The highway had begun to level off as they approached the crest of a long rolling hill. He realized at once what Kyle was referring to, and now that he was aware of it, he could begin to hear it as well: the sound of a very large crowd heard from a great distance. Spectators were kept away from the first three miles of the Long Walk to avoid distracting the walkers, but they were approaching that threshold now.

After another minute they reached the top of the hill and the road leveled off. Ahead of them, beneath a perfectly blue sky, both lanes of the interstate stretched on to infinity; and lining it on the right were tens of thousands of people a hundred or more deep, along with yet another much larger military presence. There were cars and vans, people throwing colorful beach balls through the air and booths set up at the back of the crush of people selling concessions. It looked like a festival, and at the sight of the walkers finally coming over the hill the crowd turned as one toward them and began cheering wildly.

Crowd control was simple: Anyone venturing onto the highway who wasn't authorized to be there would be shot, and there wasn't a person alive who hadn't seen videos of it happening from previous Long Walks. It was an extremely effective way of keeping order.

"Oh…hamburgers," Butters whispered, taking a step closer to Kenny. Kenny turned to grin at that epitaph and say the first smartass thing that came to mind, but when he realized that Butters looked absolutely _terrified_ he reached for his hand and laced their fingers together instead.

"Dude…just ignore them," Kenny said, squeezing Butters' fingers in acknowledgement of the grateful look he gave him. He looked down at their joined hands and wondered if he should let go or keep holding on. Butters didn't seem to mind.

_"Warning! First warning, number seven, Donovan!"_ a megaphone-enhanced voice called out from the nearest jeep, and the kid with the colostomy bag suddenly looked around like a deer caught in headlights. Kenny watched as he snapped his phone shut and picked up his pace.

"Anyone who bet on number seven to be the first person to get a warning just started celebrating," Stan said.

Butters looked up at Kenny and shook his head. "It's going to be really hard to ignore that many people, Ken." He grabbed onto Kenny's hand harder, effectively making Kenny's mind up for him.

Kenny nodded, walking as close to him as he could without tripping him. They would be at the perimeter set up by the soldiers in less than a minute, and after that they would be walking alongside a large number of people, probably for the rest of the Long Walk. He was about to suggest moving toward the left side of the highway, farther away from the crowd, when Butters spoke first.

"I'm imagining they're all in their underwear instead," he said, making Kenny almost double over laughing. "You know, like they say you should when you're doin' public speaking."

Kenny straightened up again and grinned at him. "Dude, that…" he shook his head. "That's a really disgusting image." Butters was barely holding back a laugh of his own, which he unleashed when Kenny added, "I mean…some of these people really need to go home and put some more clothes on."

They walked past the beginning of the crowd, laughing and holding hands. Stan had been right: Something like this is a lot better when you have someone to talk to.

"Thank you for holding my hand," Butters said quietly a few minutes later. "It's real nice of you."

"I'll hold your hand for the rest of the walk if you want," Kenny replied; it occurred to him that he was going to have to figure out how to carry out his plan now that Butters was in the picture. "Well, maybe I'll let go while you're eating, or taking a piss…"

Butters laughed again. "You're real funny, Ken." He turned his attention to something behind Kenny. "We're not the only ones. Look!"

Kenny turned to look behind him and saw Stan and Kyle holding hands as well, thirty feet behind them. At Kenny's look they both smiled and waved with their free hands.

"Sweet," Kenny said, turning around to face forward again. He noticed he and Butters were walking faster than almost everyone; there were only three walkers in front of them, the farthest nearly one hundred feet away. They ignored the shouts from people in the crowd twenty feet away as they walked past them. After several minutes, Butters let go of Kenny's hand to reach into his backpack. He removed a banana and began to peel it.

"Want half?" Butters offered, proffering the banana.

"Ah…no thanks. But tell me something dude: What have you got in that backpack anyway? It looks heavy."

"Well, um…" Butters hesitated and then went on as if reading a list he'd memorized. "Eight clean pairs of socks, a jacket for when it gets cold at night…um, a new pair of boots, three big jars of peanut butter, a jar of pecans, some hard boiled eggs—"

"Okay, woah!" Kenny said, trying not to laugh. "All right…some of that makes sense, like having some snacks. But eight pairs of socks and new boots? Peanut butter…dude, what the fuck?"

"Even the most expensive pair of boots will start to fall apart after about three or four days of nonstop walking," Butters replied defensively. He looked ready to defend everything on his list.

"But _eight pairs_ of socks? I brought, like, two pairs…and they give us food every morning, 3,500 calories' worth…"

"That's not enough for this." Butters gestured as if to indicate everything around them. The nearest walker was Tucker, who was walking down the centerline of the interstate a few steps behind them and listening intently to his MP3 player. "Just walking like this while carrying a backpack burns about 400 calories an hour. Do the math."

Kenny's eyes widened as he began to try multiplying 24 hours in a day by 400 in his head, but Butters saved him the trouble.

"That's 9,600 calories a day, Ken. By the end of the second day, everyone who hasn't been taken out of the race yet is going to start losing weight and getting weak." Kenny felt his stomach drop as the implications of what Butters said sank in. He thought about the two sandwiches and piece of cake in his own backpack and shook his head.

"Once they've used up their body fat, people start burning muscle to keep going next, and after that, they start digesting their own organs. That's why I brought a lot of high calorie food, enough to keep me going for days along with what they give us, long after almost everyone else will have dropped out from exhaustion." Butters' fingers were clenching Kenny's almost painfully. "And as for the socks? Well, taking care of your feet is important. I'm going to change my socks every morning."

Kenny was staring at him, both impressed and shaken by his knowledge. "Won't you have to sit down and draw a warning to do that?"

"Yeah," Butters replied, nodding. "But I practiced, and I got to where I can sit down, take off my boots and socks, wipe my feet with a wet 'n' dry towel, put new socks and my boots back on and be up on my feet and walking again in 25 seconds. Heck, my best time was 21 seconds!"

Kenny felt stunned by this, and gained a new sense of admiration for his walking companion. "Sounds like you've been practicing for this. You sure know a lot about it." He realized how unprepared _he_ was for this (not that he planned to try to win) and wondered how many of the others were as unprepared as he was.

"Kenny?" Butters said quietly. "There's something I want to tell you…I mean, if we're going to be friends and all…"

Kenny looked at him curiously. He'd taken it as a given that they were going to be friends, at least for another two days. "Okay, sure. What's that?"

He looked nervously toward the road passing slowly under their feet for several seconds, as if weighing an important decision. "I'm in this to win," Butters finally said quietly. Kenny snorted.

"I think most of us are, don't you?"

"Yeah, but…" He looked up again; Kenny spotted a woman in the crowd ten feet away breastfeeding a baby. "I really mean it! I—I mean…my dad's been training me for the last ten months for this, ever since we knew I was going to be in it."

Kenny shook his head doubtfully. "I dunno, dude; why do I get the feeling that he might have _overtrained_ you—"

"No, Ken!…he didn't." Butters' expression was intense. "He knew exactly what he was doing…and he shared every bit of it with me." He finally took a bite of the banana and slipped his left hand back into Kenny's right. "I only trained four days a week, and rested the other three. But the last six months? I…I'd walk fifteen miles each time I trained, carrying a backpack that weighs two pounds more than this one, at almost five miles an hour. This pace we're doing is easy for me."

Kenny nodded. "Wow…you actually _do_ have a shot at winning this."

"Ken, a month ago I walked sixty miles at this pace. I could have gone a lot farther…but my dad followed next to me in his car the whole way, and we went by Long Walk rules. He counted all the times I slowed down too much and gave me warnings and everything."

"How many warnings did you get?"

"The most I got at one time was two," Butters replied proudly. "It was after about forty miles, and I had to…oh, you know…"

"Stop and take a shit?" Kenny asked, and Butters nodded.

"Yeah. I…well, that's how I know how long a pair of boots lasts before they start to fall apart." He smiled and squeezed Kenny's hand. "I like talking to you!"

"You too, man." He watched Butters take the last bite of his banana and drop the peel onto the asphalt. "You know…I kind of wish we'd met somewhere else."

"Me too, Kenny. I…I'm really not looking forward to seeing you, ah…get taken out of the race."

Kenny felt a twinge of guilt at that comment. He came to a sudden decision and said, "Hey man, there's something I need to tell you about too, okay? I…" He trailed off while he tried to organize his thoughts, and was about to continue when there was a sudden cry of pain from somewhere ahead of them. Kenny quickly spotted the source: One of the faster walkers had stopped and was looking down at his left foot in horror.

_"Warning! First warning, number ten, McDonald!"_ The jeep carrying the soldier who had called out the warning coasted to a stop.

"I twisted my ankle!" McDonald said loudly, in a tone that made it seem like he believed it actually mattered. Realization dawned on his face a moment later: The soldiers didn't care about his ankle, and the crowd had suddenly gotten louder as they realized they might be about to see someone get taken out of the race. "No!" he shouted and started hobbling.

"Oh shit," Kenny said. "He should have taken his thirty seconds to try to rest his leg."

McDonald was limping bravely but he clearly couldn't maintain his speed for long. He slowed down again and the soldier raised the megaphone to his mouth. _"Second warning, number ten!"_

"It isn't fair!" he screamed. "I hurt my leg, it's not fair!" He seemed to have remembered the thirty-second rule, as he was standing still now, putting most of his weight on his right leg.

"Hey, you want an aspirin?" someone in the crowd called out and there was a lot of raucous laughter from the heckler's drunken buddies.

Kenny and Butters walked past him a few moments later. "Good luck, man," Kenny muttered while trying not to look at the boy's tear-streaked face. Once they were past him, Kenny turned to Butters and said urgently, "Dude, if he _does_ get shot, don't watch, okay?"

Butters nodded grimly, and they both picked up their pace, trying to put the doomed kid further behind them. At least two minutes passed; Kenny realized McDonald must be trying to walk again or he would have gotten his third warning by now. And as if that realization were a cue, the heavily distorted voice called out: _"Third warning, number ten!"_

"No!" the boy screamed behind them. Kenny and Butters were practically jogging now, and Kenny was about to look at his watch to see just how fast they were actually going when there was another scream, followed immediately by two extremely loud gunshots.

"Oh Jesus!" Butters shouted, whirling around to look. Kenny looked too, just long enough to see a mostly headless corpse hit the pavement, an enormous gout of blood pumping from its neck. The crowd suddenly went completely silent, leaving only the echoes from the gunshots.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kenny saw Butters whirl around again, most of the banana and chocolate cake he'd eaten earlier exiting his mouth with a loud retch and splattering across the road in front of him. To his credit, he didn't even draw a warning.


	3. MILES 6 - 91

CHAPTER THREE: MILES 6 – 91

The echoes faded and they kept walking relentlessly onward despite what had just happened. Surprisingly, there wasn't a single warning issued to any of the walkers. Butters still had a death grip on Kenny's hand.

"Dude…" Kenny finally said. "You shouldn't have looked."

"I know," Butters replied miserably, wiping a bit of vomit from his chin with his free hand. He looked down, spotting the puke on the end of his left boot and left knee of his jeans and shaking his head.

Stan and Kyle had sped up and were walking beside Kenny a few feet away, still holding hands; Kenny was glad neither of them had drawn a warning, and he turned to give them a sympathetic look. They walked quietly together for a few moments; Stan finally broke the silence.

"Dudes…that was fucking _brutal_."

"I know," Kenny replied; he felt like he was replying for Butters as well. "You didn't watch, did you?"

"I did," Kyle replied as Stan was shaking his head 'no'. "I watched the whole thing. His head just… _disappeared_."

"I looked right afterward," Butters said, whispering as if he was telling them a secret. "There was nothing _left_ of his head…"

"Told you not to look," Kenny repeated, and after that they stopped talking while they absorbed what had just happened. The crowd had begun making noise again, a steady murmur of hundreds of conversations replacing the wild cheering of a minute ago.

"It's like one thing to know it's going to happen," Stan added. "And another thing entirely to actually see it."

"We only got six miles this time before someone got shot," Cartman said incredulously from twenty feet behind them. "That was pathetic."

"And it's going to happen thirteen more times before we're through," Kyle replied.

Kenny was about to say something about how only one of them would actually be around to witness it that many times, but he suddenly realized that Butters was walking slower and the grip on his hand had loosened. He turned to ask if he was all right but Butters spoke first. His eyes were terrified and his face was the color of cottage cheese.

"Kenny? I—I don't feel good." And with that, he staggered and almost toppled over backward. Kenny grabbed him under his shoulder and eased him down to the asphalt, crouching down beside him and supporting his back with a hand against his ribcage. He was dead weight under Kenny's arm.

 _"Warning! First warning, numbers six and twelve!"_ He could hear a jeep come to a halt behind him; two of the network news vans stopped behind it.

"Come on, dude," Kenny said urgently to Butters' unconscious face, gently shaking him to try to rouse him. "Come on back." He looked up and saw Stan and Kyle continuing to walk, both of them looking over their shoulders at him. "Keep going," Kenny called to them. "We'll catch up in a minute." He turned back to Butters, who had opened his eyes and was staring at him blankly. "Come on, man…wake up." He had a sudden idea, and unscrewed the lid on his canteen and poured it over Butters' head. An elderly man near the front of the crowd closest to them was licking his lips hungrily.

Butters shook his head and sputtered, awareness rushing back to his eyes. He was trying to say Kenny's name but wasn't making any sound.

"Dude…we got about fifteen seconds until we both get our second warnings. Can you get up?"

Butters' eyes grew wide and he shook his head. "N—no," he whispered, color beginning to come back into his face. "My legs won't work yet." One of his hands flew to his face, fingers dancing over his lips. "Kenny! You should go! …I—I'll catch up—"

"Nope. Nope. Just shut up. We'll take the second warning, sit here another thirty seconds and _then_ get up, okay?"

Butters was staring at him incredulously, but Kenny's attention was drawn behind him as two soldiers emerged from the stopped jeep. Both had their rifles pointed downward toward the road as they approached; one was staring at the watch on his own wrist as they drew closer.

"Just breathe, dude," Kenny said quietly, returning his gaze to Butters. The two soldiers stopped ten feet away; a hush had fallen over everything, and he knew they were moments from receiving their second warnings. Butters licked his lips and began taking slow, deep breaths, their eyes locked together while Kenny looked at him encouragingly. The soldier staring at his watch nodded and the other soldier raised a megaphone. Kenny winced and pulled Butters closer.

 _"Warning,"_ the voice echoed from the surrounding hills; the crowd had become completely silent once again. _"Second warnings, numbers six and twelve."_

"Okay, we got thirty seconds now," Kenny said urgently, glancing at his own watch and noting the exact time. "We don't want to get third warnings; you can get up before then, right?"

Butters nodded, and sat up even straighter under Kenny's arm. He was holding himself upright now, so Kenny moved his hand from under Butters' armpit and reached up to slide one of the straps of Butters' backpack down his arm. "Give me this fucking thing," he said, sliding the other strap free so the backpack slid to the asphalt. He shrugged his shoulders, removing his own backpack and setting it next to Butters'. "You can carry mine for a while, okay?"

Butters looked stricken, and Kenny shook his head. "Don't argue with me. You gotta try to stand up now, okay?" Butters didn't move, and Kenny started to get up himself, trying to pull Butters up alongside him. "Dude! Can you get up?"

Butters finally nodded and slowly stood, looking down at his knees as he carefully straightened them. Kenny picked up Butters' backpack and put it on, then picked up his own much lighter one and looked at his watch. "Twelve seconds…just start walking slow, okay?"

Butters took a tentative step, then another, and Kenny began walking beside him. He didn't need to look at his watch to see if they were going fast enough, and he didn't want to know how close they had come to receiving third warnings. He watched Butters walk, his earlier confidence seeming to slowly come back. He was staring intently at the pavement directly ahead of him as he walked.

Kenny glared back at the two soldiers who had been about to shoot them if they hadn't started walking again. "Why don't you make yourselves useful and fetch us a couple canteens of water?"

"You can ask for one for yourself," the one holding the megaphone replied. "Your friend has to ask for his own."

Kenny felt his hand being squeezed. "I'd like a canteen too, please!" Butters said loudly and Kenny snickered.

"There you go, asshole! Two canteens, right now. Chop chop!"

The soldiers finally began to look angry at Kenny's baiting and they walked back to their jeep. He turned his attention back to Butters. "Do you need anything from your backpack? Something to drink, or…"

Butters shook his head. "No…I'm all right."

Kenny nodded, and they kept walking. Another soldier he'd never seen before came up behind them a minute later and wordlessly handed Kenny two canteens. He opened one, took a sip and offered it to Butters, who shook his head.

The sun rose higher before them as they gradually reached the crest of another long rolling hill and began walking toward a distant valley. The right side of the otherwise deserted interstate still teemed with thousands of people.

"Kenny?" Butters finally spoke several minutes later. He sounded humble. "You can give me my backpack back now. I'm okay, really."

Kenny looked at him and burst out laughing. "Your backpack back?"

Butters smiled uncertainly at him. "Well, yeah!"

"Why don't you let me carry it for a while, okay?" At Butters' guilty look, he added, "I don't mind, dude. This thing's heavy."

"Ken, I feel bad enough that you got two warnings because of me."

"No big deal," he tried to shrug it off. "All we have to do is keep walking for two hours and we'll be right back to zero again." He saw they were going to overtake Stan and Kyle soon; both of them had their heads turned, looking back at them. "Dude, you know I'm not trying to steal your stuff, right?" Kenny waited for him to nod before continuing: "Seriously…I'll give it back whenever you want; but why don't you let me carry it for a while, okay? Here…you can take mine if you want."

"All right." Butters looked embarrassed as he took the lighter backpack and put it on. "Thanks, Kenny."

"That's what friends are for, dude."

"Th—thank you for probably saving my life too. I—I don't know if I would have gotten up and started walking in time if you hadn't have helped me."

Kenny nodded and thought: _Or fallen and busted your head open._ "Hey man…I'm just glad you're still walking next to me." He realized at that moment he was falling in love with this kid, and he hadn't even known him for two hours yet. "Just don't faint _every_ time someone gets taken out of the walk, okay?"

Butters smiled and squeezed Kenny's hand. "Okay…that's the last time I'm ever going to look."

"Good idea." They caught up to Stan and Kyle a minute later, and at their curious looks, Kenny shook his head. "We're going to walk on ahead for a while, okay? Having two warnings is kind of nerve-wracking."

"See you later," Kyle replied as they passed by. Kenny gradually guided Butters toward the left side of the interstate, putting more distance between themselves and the crowd. After a few minutes, he let go of Kenny's hand to take one of the canteens and have a drink. Kenny watched him fondly, and as Butters screwed the lid back on, he broke the silence that had descended over them.

"Hey Ken? You were going to tell me something before I fainted." Butters was looking at him again, with an expression that made his heart race. "Well, actually it was just before that kid got shot…but, do you still want to tell me what it was?"

Kenny felt a twinge of guilt at that. "Yeah, I sort of need to, I guess," he replied, looking past him at the other walkers, most of whom were behind them by this point. No one would be in earshot as long as he kept his voice down. Stan and Kyle were walking some fifty feet behind them near the centerline of the highway, still holding hands and having their own earnest conversation. The rest of the walkers were spread out over several hundred feet, the jeeps slowly following along in the breakdown lanes while the crowd partied on their right.

"Butters? There _is_ something I have to tell you about…now that you're my friend and all." Butters positively beamed at that and Kenny went on, "Dude, you're not going to like this very much. Try not to hate me, okay?"

Butters squeezed his hand. "I couldn't _hate_ you, Kenny. What is it?"

"Um…look, you can't tell anyone else about this, or it could really fuck things up for me and my family, okay…?" Butters nodded, and Kenny added: "I'm serious: I'll trip you if you tell anyone else what I'm about to tell you." Butters laughed, knowing Kenny wasn't really serious because he was too nice to do that, and besides, that would be against the rules.

"Kenny…whatever you want to tell me is safe with me. Okay?"

Kenny nodded, searching his face one last time before beginning to tell him what he'd promised himself (and his parents) he'd never tell anyone.

"Okay…well, first of all…my last name isn't really 'Cramer'. It's McCormick."

Butters was staring at him, confusion finally settling into his face as he realized Kenny was entered into the Long Walk under a false name. Someone far behind them drew a first warning, and Kenny noticed they both subconsciously sped up as a result.

"Oh…kay," Butters finally replied. "So then, why the different last name…Kenny McCormick?"

"Because, unlike you, I'm _not_ in this thing to win," Kenny replied, watching Butters' face closely. "And I know exactly when I'm leaving, too…because my dad's got a very long bet placed on me, that I'm going to be removed from the race at 10:54 Wednesday morning…10:54 and twenty seconds to be exact." Realization was starting to dawn in Butters' eyes, and Kenny hurried to finish. "My plan is to rack up two warnings and make sure I get my third one exactly thirty seconds before that time. If I do this right, my dad's going to win about a billion dollars, give or take…and it would look suspicious if he'd won that kind of money betting against his own son."

There was more that Kenny wished he could tell him, but couldn't. _And only my parents know about my immortality curse/blessing, and this is the second year in a row we've done this, only unlike last year when my dad won a measly $100,000, this time we're going balls to the wall with a ridiculously long bet._ Butters' face had gone from understanding to sorrow, and Kenny found himself wishing he'd never started having feelings for this kid. "You, ah…hate me now, don't you?"

"No, Ken," Butters replied sadly. "I couldn't…I just…" he trailed off.

"I know," Kenny said. He was about to continue when Butters interrupted him.

"Ah, I just wish I'd never gotten into this! And now that I've met you I've got all these dumb old feelings…" He kicked a small rock angrily, sending it skittering ahead of them where they would pass it again in a few seconds. "I _like_ you, Kenny! I—I don't want to watch you get shot!" He looked down sadly, lining up his foot to kick the rock again. "But…I guess it doesn't really matter if I know exactly when I have to say goodbye to you. I'll have to anyway, no matter when it is. A…and if I only get to spend the next two days with you before then…well then I guess that's okay too." He sighed and squeezed Kenny's hand. "I just wish we could have met before today."

Kenny squeezed his hand back. "Me too, man." They walked quietly for a few minutes. Butters gave him a curious look and Kenny smiled back.

"You know…I've read stories about other people doing what you're doing; but I always thought it was an urban legend or something…"

Kenny laughed. "Most of them probably are. But no… I'm the real deal, dude. I have an older brother and younger sister, and two useless parents; this is the best way I can think of to take care of them."

"They're going to miss you, Ken; even more than I will." Kenny grimaced, and Butters let go of his hand for a moment to look at his watch. "So Ken…I guess that means..?"

"Yeah," he replied, also looking at the display on Butters' watch. They were walking 3.8 miles an hour. "In just under 48 hours, I'm going to take my third warning and bow out of this go kart race. And I'd rather spend as much of that time with you as I can…rather than walk by myself or those other guys. I like you too." He reached out to take Butters' hand again. "A _lot_."

**OOO**

They traded backpacks an hour later, once they'd walked off one of their warnings. By 3:00 that afternoon, dark storm clouds had begun to build up on the horizon to their left and behind them. The sun began shifting in and out of the clouds, casting swiftly-moving shadows across the landscape ahead of them. A cold wind began to blow and Kenny and Butters subconsciously hunkered closer together against it. Stan and Kyle were walking a few feet away, talking quietly to each other.

"Hey you guys, they just said on the radio it's going to rain," a walker named Harrison said, and there were groans of dismay from some of the others. Kenny saw some of the people in the crowd looking toward the sky nervously as well, a few of them putting on raincoats while others began walking toward the shelter of their vehicles.

"That wasn't in the forecast!" Cartman said angrily. Kenny looked at Butters and smirked.

"He's never happy unless he has something to complain about," he said, and Butters nodded. "I'm sure you've got some kind of raincoat in there next to your peanut butter." He reached into his own backpack, feeling for the emergency poncho he knew his mother had packed for him. Cartman was right: There'd been no rain predicted for the rest of the week, and he wondered if anyone had come completely unprepared for it.

Butters had pulled a large trash bag from his pack and was carefully unfolding it. "I brought this," he said, holding it up to study it. It was one of the biggest trash bags Kenny had ever seen. It was nearly as long as Butters was tall, and much wider than the lawn and leaf bags he'd ever seen.

"Dude…that thing is _huge_." Kenny knew there was a dick joke in there but kept it to himself. Butters had completely unfolded it and found a small hole he'd made in the bottom of it, presumably to look through.

"It's a contractor trash bag," he explained. "It's real thick plastic; and I made a hole so I can see where I'm going." He was smiling bashfully. "There's plenty of room in it for you too…if you want."

Kenny grinned, looking from the bag his friend was holding to the poncho he'd removed from his own backpack. It was one of those emergency ones that people buy, throw into the trunk of their cars and forget about. He eyed the picture on its packaging, noticing that it didn't go much lower than the waist of the person wearing it in the picture.

"You sure you don't mind?" Kenny asked. It would clearly keep him drier than what he'd brought; and the idea of walking alongside Butters inside a trash bag bigger than any he'd ever seen before was suddenly very exciting to him.

"Not at all," Butters replied eagerly. "I'll just make another hole in it for you." He was already running his fingers along the bottom edge of the bag, looking for the right place in which to do it and tearing through the thick brown plastic once he had.

Kenny looked around at some of the other walkers, most of whom were checking their own packs for raingear. Kyle was putting on a poncho similar to the one Kenny had brought, while Stan was walking alongside him empty-handed. Kenny nudged Butters and indicated Stan with his chin. A look passed between them and Kenny nodded.

"Here, dude," he said, offering Stan his poncho.

Stan's eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. "Wow…are you sure?"

"Uh huh." Kenny grinned. "I'm going to share my friend's trash bag."

Stan glanced behind Kenny and nodded. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Good luck staying dry." He handed Stan the poncho and turned back toward Butters, who was smiling. Kenny felt good about what he'd just done until he saw a couple other walkers glaring at him. Helping each other wasn't against the rules, but Kenny knew that in a couple of days it will be every man for himself.

"That was nice, Ken," Butters said, carefully folding his trash bag in half and holding it against his chest in anticipation of when they would need it. Judging from the storm clouds towering high overhead, it wouldn't be long now.

"Yeah? I'm not sure everyone agrees." The wind picked up at that moment, whipping the plastic around in Butters' arms. The first fat drops of rain spattered the highway in front of them, and the hills to the north were fading in a growing mist. "Uh oh…so how do we do this?"

Butters had unfolded the bag again and was holding the open end high over his head. "Here Ken, hold the bag up like this." Kenny reached up, grabbing on to the opening in the huge trash bag as well, and they easily got it settled over their heads, never once breaking stride. There was a moment when Kenny couldn't see that he was certain they were going to draw a warning but then he located the hole Butters had made for him to look through and they were able to walk onward, matching each other's strides inside the bag. Their timing was perfect: Just a few seconds later the rain began falling harder, and visibility around them fell to just a few feet.

"See?" Butters said happily, smiling at Kenny from two feet away from his own opening in the bag they were sharing. "This is pretty nice!"

Kenny nodded. It was much warmer and more humid than he'd expected; as well, the bag ending just below his knees made his steps shorter. But at least they were out of the rain, and even if it got a lot colder later they would still be comfortable.

 _"Warnings! First warnings, numbers two, four, nine, and thirteen!"_ The amplified voice seemed surreal coming from out of the mist beyond their warm little plastic cocoon. Kenny recognized 'nine' as Stan's number and turned his head to look for him. He was walking next to Kyle, doubled over in the rain, wearing the poncho Kenny had given him and trying to walk faster. He looked miserable.

"I hope he's okay," Butters said sadly, reaching once more for Kenny's hand. His palm felt extremely moist.

"Me too." Kenny noticed a couple of the walkers hadn't put on rain gear of any sort and were walking through the downpour in various degrees of misery. The crowd was more subdued as well, those who'd chosen to stay cowering inside raincoats or beneath umbrellas and sheets of plastic. It seemed possible that he and Butters were the two most comfortable walkers in the race. "You were right…it's really nice under here with you."

"Yeah." Butters was watching him with an intense gaze, their strides matching each other's perfectly inside the trash bag. Kenny felt Butters untangle his fingers from his hand; his palm was cold when Butters' warmth left it. "Kenny?" Butters whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of rain hitting the heavy plastic covering both of them. "You tell me if I'm doing anything wrong, okay?" Kenny stared at him wordlessly as he felt Butters' fingertips moving up his thigh and over his zipper. His fingers curled, cupping Kenny's cock through his jeans. "Is this all right?"

Kenny released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Yeah," he whispered, and Butters' hand pressed harder, drawing a gasp from him. "Goddam, dude…" Kenny moaned, reaching up to run the palm of his hand over the swell of Butters' ass, his fingertips digging between his thighs. It was getting harder to remember to keep walking. He moved his hand around to the front of Butters' jeans and felt his erection straining beneath the material. Butters' pupils were blown wide open and suddenly nothing else mattered; they were alone together, encased inside a world of plastic while rain drummed down around them.

Butters unsnapped Kenny's jeans and reached inside his underwear. He felt a thumb sliding through the slickness at the tip of his dick and jerked as his knees threatened to buckle. He reached for Butters' cock as well and a moment later they were walking together in the rain jerking each other off, hidden from view by a trash bag.

"It would be so worth taking a warning if we could stop long enough that I can feel you up properly," Kenny said quietly, and Butters' eyes lit up. He nodded, and Kenny asked: "Do you want to?"

"Yes," Butters replied urgently. They stopped walking and took a single step toward each other inside the trash bag. Butters reached around to wrap his fingers around their erect penises as Kenny's arm circled the small of his back to pull him close. He slid his hand below Butters' waist to cup a buttock and burrow his fingertips into his crack.

_"Warning! First warning, numbers six and twelve."_

Butters' hand only jerked them a couple times before he cried out, and as Kenny felt his cock and Butters' hand grow warm and slick he moaned, closing his eyes and shuddering with his own orgasm. For a moment the rain, the crowd, _everything_ was gone except the sensation roaring through him; then the world came crashing back and he realized they would be drawing their second warnings in a few seconds.

"Dude," he breathed. "Start walking…and holy fuck, thank you!"

Butters nodded and they began walking again, letting go of each other to button their pants back up. Kenny realized a moment later that Butters was laughing and turned to look at him. "You have no idea how much I wanted to do that, Kenny." It was the happiest he'd sounded since Kenny had met him seven hours ago.

Kenny nodded. "That was like a gay pornographic potato sack race," he said, reaching for Butters' hand inside the bag and lacing their fingers together again.

The rain stopped a half hour later and the setting sun came out behind them just enough to begin drying the road, which smelled of wet asphalt. Raincoats and ponchos were removed and put away; Butters carefully folded up his giant trash bag and stowed it in his backpack.

Stan and Kyle sidled up to them a few minutes later, both of them with knowing smiles. "That was fucking _awesome_ , you two," Stan said.

Kenny grinned. "You guys saw that, huh?"

Kyle laughed. "Dudes, are you kidding? You're lucky half the _world_ didn't see what you guys did!"

"Most of the news crews are at the front and back of the race," Stan said. "I guess no one cares about us guys in the middle…yet, anyway."

"You could have become Long Walk sensations," Kyle put in.

"It wouldn't have lasted," Kenny said. "We could have fucked in the middle of the highway with CNN broadcasting it live to the world, but as soon as the next person got shot, they'd forget all about us." He looked at Butters and back at Stan and Kyle as if for confirmation. "Right?"

"Sure, Kenny," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes.

Kenny noticed that Butters was laughing almost too hard to walk. He turned to him and Butters spluttered, "I'm okay, Ken…it's just that—" He stopped talking to take a couple deep breaths and exhale them before finishing, "My dad told me not to even say hello to anyone here!"

They laughed, and the walk continued. Once the sun had set, some of the jeeps near the back turned on bright spotlights mounted on their roofs, illuminating the way from behind with garish white light and casting long stark shadows ahead of them. They put on warmer clothes as it grew later and the temperature dropped; Kenny had an orange hoodie that he pulled tightly around his face, Stan pulled a hat with a red poofball on top onto his head, while Kyle had a brown jacket and green ushanka to cover his ears. Around midnight, Stan and Kyle drifted toward the middle of the highway, leaving Kenny and Butters alone. They talked about nothing and everything, Butters going on at some length about his plans for all that money he hoped to win in a few days. Sometime after 2:00 AM, while they were talking about the constellations that they could see through the spotlights, number 5 Cotswold drew three warnings half a mile behind them over a ten-minute period and was shot. Butters squeezed Kenny's hand, and they walked onward through this strange night.

Kenny thought that as long as this amazing person kept talking to him and walking alongside him, he could walk all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.


	4. MILES 91 - 183

  


MaudW

CHAPTER FOUR: MILES 91 – 183

"You ready to do this?" Butters asked, looking excited as he walked alongside Kenny, almost as if they were about to play a game, which in a sense they were. It was 9:20 Tuesday morning; the soldiers had distributed food rations and canteens of water to each of the thirteen surviving walkers twenty minutes ago. They'd both eaten a bologna sandwich and stowed the rest of their rations into their backpacks.

"Uh huh," Kenny replied, not at all sure that he actually was. He was predicting they were about to get two warnings rather than the one Butters was expecting.

"It's all in the preparation," Butters said. To Kenny's surprise, Butters handed him a small shiny packet a little bigger than a credit card that he recognized as a pre-moistened alcohol towelette. He must have sensed Kenny was about to protest because he quickly added, "I've got plenty of those, Kenny. I might want one to wipe my face with in the afternoon or something, too." He started tearing off the end of his own packet. "You gotta do as much as you can while you're still walking, _before_ you get any warnings." Kenny copied Butters' movements, tearing open the end of his towelette package. The sharp smell of alcohol stung his nostrils.

Butters reached into his backpack and pulled out two pairs of thick, cushy-looking white socks and handed Kenny one of them. "Oh, dude, no, come on…" Kenny finally protested.

"Ken…just let me do this, okay?" He looked down at the road sadly for a moment. "It's the only day I'll be able to…and I'm not going to need _eight_ pairs of socks. No Long Walk has ever gone that many days."

Kenny nodded, knowing he was right. He was just over 25 hours away from his planned death. He doubted they'd be changing their socks together again this time tomorrow.

"Good!" Butters said, seeing that Kenny was going along with him. "Now…reach down and untie your boot and—" he began demonstrating by carrying out his own directions, reaching down without breaking stride to untie his right boot. "—loosen the laces." He repeated the maneuver with his left boot; the plastic tips of the laces clicked as they dragged along the highway while he walked.

"If you two lovebirds keep helping each other like that," Tucker said from six feet behind them, having approached them without either of them noticing. "The rest of us are going to start getting really pissed off."

"Oh, fuck off, _Tucker_ ," Kyle said. He and Stan were watching what Butters was doing intently. "They haven't broken any of the rules, and at least some of us still have some humanity left. They aren't hurting anyone."

"You think so, huh?" Tucker replied mockingly. "If Cramer hadn't helped that Stotch kid after he fainted yesterday, we might all be walking against eleven people right now, instead of twelve. You guys are blind and deluded. Maybe it's no big deal right _now_ …but we've barely been walking a day so far. What about after we've been walking for _three_ days? Or what about four? If any of you sad fucks are still walking four days from now, you'll be praying for everyone else to give out. You know I'm right."

Kenny looked away, toward the sunlit pavement passing relentlessly under his boots. _What an asshole_ , he thought, even as he realized what he was saying was true. He felt Butters deliberately bump his right shoulder when he took his next step, and then again with his next. Kenny bumped him back and they smiled at each other. Butters' smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"So what?" Stan said angrily. "So…maybe this contest is going to turn us into a bunch of bloodthirsty savages in a couple days, just trying to stay alive. But before we go all Lord of the Flies on each other, why don't you let us enjoy our humanity a little while longer?"

Tucker smirked and began edging away from them, toward the center of the highway. "It's going to be fun, walking you guys down one by one. I don't really want to see you get shot, but…it is what it is." He lifted his earbuds up from his neck, settling them into his ears again. "Have a great day." He began walking faster, dismissing them.

"Jesus…what a dick," Kenny said, glancing toward Butters who was watching the road intently. His face was unreadable.

"He's just trying to psyche us out," Kyle said.

"He's right, you know," Kenny said to Butters. "He's just trying to fuck with our heads, so screw him. Now…where were we?"

"Just do everything I do, like we went over," Butters replied. Some of the enthusiasm had left his voice after that exchange with Tucker. He'd gotten the laces of both his boots loosened and Kenny reached down, never missing a step, to do the same to his own boots. It was now or never. They exchanged a look and sat down on the highway together.

 _"Warning! First warning, numbers six and twelve!"_ Butters flung both his boots off and peeled off his dirty socks, Kenny copying his every move a second later. They wiped their feet with alcohol towelettes ("make sure you get between your toes, Kenny"), threw them aside as well, pulled on clean socks, got their boots on and retied and leaned back to rest for a moment. Butters was staring at his watch, and as he began counting down "five…four…" he and Kenny leaped to their feet together and began walking again.

"Dude!" Kenny said happily. "That was awesome! My feet feel great."

"And we got to rest for a few seconds," Butters replied. "I feel a lot better now."

"That was very disciplined," Cartman said, apparently having been observing them from a few feet away. He had appeared as if out of nowhere.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" Kenny asked, reaching for Butters' hand.

"That doesn't matter," Cartman replied, dismissing the question and nodding toward the jeeps following them in the breakdown lanes. "Just be ready. We're going to swarm these sons of bitches when they don't expect it and take over."

"Woah, dude," Kenny said; Butters was watching Cartman nervously from behind Kenny. "No, _we're_ not. What are you talking about?"

"Just be ready," Cartman repeated, moving away from them to go over and talk to Tucker, who reluctantly removed one of his earbuds for a few seconds, then shook his head and brushed Cartman aside.

"What was _that_ all about?" Stan asked.

"I think he's losing it," Kenny replied, repeating what Cartman had just said. Stan grimaced as he listened.

"I thought there was something wrong with that guy the first time he talked to me," Kyle said once Kenny had finished.

"I'm just going to do my best to stay away from him," Kenny said and Butters nodded, apparently agreeing with this plan.

The walk continued; by now, the faster walkers were over a mile ahead, almost out of sight. On three separate occasions during the afternoon, they heard the sound of gunshots from far ahead and could see a body being dragged from the road soon after. Unlike yesterday's unexpected rain, today was hot and most of the boys ended up walking shirtless by late afternoon. Kenny and Butters walked together, their hands unabashedly roaming over each other's backs as they went.

Around 5:00, Butters squeezed Kenny's hand once and then let go to reach into his backpack for something. "Um, Ken? I need to drop back for a minute…and probably take a warning."

Kenny looked at him curiously. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah." He looked away bashfully and pulled a roll of toilet paper from his pack. "Just gotta…"

"Say no more," Kenny interrupted. "Good luck. Hey, do you want me to hold your backpack while you…?"

Butters looked uncomfortable. "You don't have to do that…"

"I know." Kenny was watching him patiently. Butters finally nodded and slid his pack off and handed it to Kenny, keeping just the toilet paper.

"Thanks, Ken."

"It's what friends are for, Butters, remember? Don't worry, I'm not gonna look." Butters nodded and began slowly dropping back. A few seconds later there were some raucous catcalls from the crowd and the now familiar amplified voice called out:

_"Warning! First warning, number twelve!"_

"Oh no!" Cartman said gleefully. "Where's your mom to wipe your butt for you?"

"Dude, shut the fuck up!" Kenny shouted angrily. "What are you, ten?"

"You know," Tucker said from a few feet ahead. "You just guaranteed that every one of us are going to yell shit at you when you stop to take a crap." Kenny was oddly grateful for the unexpected support.

"You just be ready when I tell you," Cartman replied, nonplussed by their responses to him.

"Uh huh," Stan replied sarcastically. "We will."

Butters caught up with Kenny a minute later, and Kenny wordlessly handed him his backpack. His face was pink; Kenny wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or exertion. Butters took out a towelette and began wiping his hands with it. Kenny grinned and shook his head as Butters tossed the towelette toward the crowd, and the walk continued.

By nightfall, the lack of sleep was beginning to wear on them all. Instead of having an animated conversation with Butters like last night, Kenny found himself walking alongside him mostly in silence while he struggled to stay awake and keep walking. Even the sound of gunshots removing someone from the walk sometime after midnight barely disturbed him. Scattered bits of dreams kept trying to invade the hellish reality of trying to walk so he wouldn't die yet, and he found himself looking forward to carrying out his planned death just so he can rest for a while.

His head kept bobbing as he drifted off to sleep and woke up again, his feet seeming to move on their own now, disconnected from him. _He found himself in a feverish dream, walking with Butters along the edge of a beach, warm water lapping at their ankles, a beautiful sunset lighting the sky and everything around them in brilliant red and orange. It was the most vivid dream he had ever had. They were in no particular hurry, often stopping together to inspect interesting seashells and pieces of driftwood they came across as they strolled along the shore._

_"I can't die, you know," Kenny said casually, knowing Butters will believe every word he says, as long as they remain on this beach together. "I mean…I die, but I just wake up a couple days later in my own bed; my parents are the only ones who remember. Well, and you, now that I told you…"_

_"I already knew that, Ken."_

_Kenny nodded. "When I did the Long Walk last year? My dad placed a bet on me that I'd get shot after eighteen and a half hours, but we timed it so he only won $200,000. But all he had to do last year was find an old friend to place the bet for him and split the winnings. He didn't trust anyone enough this year with a billion dollar bet though…so he got me a real good fake ID with its own government serial number and everything, so he could claim the money himself without looking like he had his own son take a dive. He's going to be waiting at the government offices and get his money an hour afterward too, before the world does that thing where it forgets all about me dying again."_

_Butters nodded, believing every word. He had been examining an interesting looking shell and let it fall back to the sand. "You have to wake up now."_

_What he'd said made no sense, and Kenny felt something tug painfully on his arm. The sky went completely dark in two seconds. "What?"_

_"You have to wake up!," Butters repeated, and whatever was pulling on his arm pulled even harder and dragged him completely onto the beach and away from water that he knew was suddenly deeper and colder than he'd ever imagined water could be—_

_"Kenny, GodDAMNIT!" Butters screamed and yanked on his arm again hard enough to hurt, and this time Kenny awoke_ and saw it was almost sunrise and he was seconds away from walking off the edge of the road into the crowd and there was a soldier six feet away aiming a rifle at his right knee—

"Oh FUCK!" he screamed and nearly stumbled, only Butters was there gripping his bicep, holding him upright and pulling him back toward the center of the highway. Everything was happening too fast, that wonderful dream was unraveling, and Kenny tripped again and nearly fell before getting his bearings and starting to walk again. Butters was staring at him anxiously.

"Ken?" Butters said. "You were asleep and starting to walk off the road. I, ah…I'm sorry I had to wake you up."

Kenny was awake enough now to realize that Butters had just saved his life (and from a long, agonizing death) and they were walking together toward another sunrise. Kenny shook his head trying to clear it, but nothing could drive away the thick fog that had taken over his thoughts. All he could remember of that dream he'd been having was that he'd been walking on a beach and he hadn't been feeling the bone weary tiredness he felt now. Now he was walking down the highway like he had been for the last two days, and only that was real.

"You okay?" Butters asked. "The soldiers are going to start handing out food soon, and after we eat something I'm going to stop and change my socks. Are you awake now?"

"I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep again," he replied, and the sad, ironic truth of that statement made him shake his head when he realized he was now only a couple hours away from staging his own death.


	5. MILES 183 - 272

CHAPTER FIVE: MILES 183 – 272

"So…I'm just going to walk on ahead," Kenny said doubtfully, a few minutes after the soldiers had handed out their second morning's rations. His plan was to eat half a sandwich and give the rest of his rations to Butters just before they started saying their goodbyes. Butters was looking back and forth between Kenny and the clean pair of socks he was holding, an unopened towelette clutched in his other hand. Even though Kenny wanted to spend as much time with Butters as he could, he didn't see the point of changing his socks an hour before he planned to die.

"A…all right, Ken." He reached down to try to grab one of his shoelaces without slowing down and managed to get it on his third try; the lace flopped against the pavement as he walked and reached for the other one. Unlike yesterday, his movements were slow and clumsy, and Kenny wasn't sure if it was from lack of sleep or sadness. "I'll catch up to you in a minute." His voice was a sad monotone, with none of the happiness that Kenny had fallen in love with two days ago.

Both of his shoelaces were untied now, their plastic tips clicking against the pavement as he walked. Kenny nodded and squeezed his arm reassuringly, then sped up, leaving him behind as he worked on catching up with Stan and Kyle. He winced when he heard the inevitable _"Warning…first warning, number twelve!"_

"He's changing his socks again?" Stan asked when Kenny caught up with him a few seconds later. At Kenny's nod, he added "How come you're not changing yours with him?"

Kenny briefly considered telling Stan to fuck off for being nosy; instead he lied, "I'm gonna do mine later; I'm pretty hungry, so I wanted to eat something first." Stan seemed to believe him, and they walked on quietly together. Kenny found himself wishing they would put coffee in with their daily rations.

_"Warning! Second warning, number twelve!"_

"Oh fuck," Kenny moaned, turning his head to look behind him. Butters was still sitting on the highway, his boots back on and tied and two filthy-looking discarded socks on the road beside him. He was staring down at the asphalt between his knees, making no move to get up. Kenny stopped in his tracks and whirled around.

_"Warning…first warning, number six!"_

"Butters!" he called loudly. "What are you doing?"

Butters looked at him, then sat up straighter and waved an arm frantically. "Keep going, Kenny! I'll catch up!"

A few people in the crowd twenty feet away were taking an interest in this exchange. Kenny had no idea what Butters was doing, briefly wondering if Butters was staging his own suicide as a way out of all this. He stood rooted to the spot, watching as Butters turned his attention to his watch. Kenny was making up his mind to rush over and pull Butters to his feet when he suddenly stood up and began walking again, quickly closing the gap between them. Kenny turned and began walking again himself, only then realizing that he still had at least fifteen seconds left on his own first warning that he could have used to rest and had wasted it by walking again instead. Damn it.

Butters caught up with him a few moments later and they once again began matching each other's stride. "Dude," Kenny said a moment later. "What the hell was that?"

Butters' face was pink and he was breathing hard. "I, uh…didn't get my socks and shoes changed in time and got a second warning." There was low-key fear in his eyes; it was only the second time since the walk had begun that he was walking with two warnings. "So I figured I might as well use the extra thirty seconds to rest. I'm sorry, Kenny! I didn't mean to scare you!"

"It's okay, man. I'm…I'm just real glad you got up again." Kenny looked down at his watch, noting that he had less than an hour to go before the exact moment he needed to get his third warning—10:53:50—for his dad's bet to be timed perfectly. And then he came to a frightening realization. "Dude! You're not going to have time to walk either of those warnings off before I…you know, leave the race."

Butters nodded sadly and looked down toward the road. "I know. I just realized that too."

"I don't want you to get another warning when the time comes!" Kenny said, anger creeping into his voice even though he didn't want it to. "You…you gotta start walking ahead of me about ten minutes before the time comes, okay? So we're gonna start to say our goodbyes then, and afterward you just speed up, okay?" He waited for Butters to say something, and when he didn't, Kenny continued: "We knew this was coming, man."

Butters finally looked at him. "I know, Ken. I…" he sniffed. "I'm going to miss you."

"I know, man…" He was desperate to find the right words. "I'm really glad I got to walk with you for the last two days. But afterward, dude…I need you to keep going and win this, okay? You have a real chance at it! I'm going to give you the rest of my rations right before I start this, and with all that other stuff you brought, you can make it. Don't share any of your food with anyone else, okay? I know you'll want to, but…don't. Make sure you—"

Butters squeezed his hand and interrupted him. "I love you, Kenny. I…really wish we'd met a long time ago."

Kenny nodded, his throat suddenly raw. "I know, man." They walked quietly for a few minutes, the rising sun in front of them warming the day. Kenny caught the infuriating smell of barbecue and spotted someone in the crowd flipping hamburgers on a large gas grill. Butters abruptly let go of Kenny's hand, reached into his pocket for his phone and held it up between them. "Kenny? Would it be all right if I took your picture, so I have something to remember you by?"

Kenny nodded, thinking: _Sure, but once I've gone through that whole reincarnation bullshit, you probably won't remember me anyway; I don't think I've been around you long enough to make enough of an impression for you to. Don't be surprised if that picture either disappears with your memories, or it stays on your phone but you have no idea who it's a picture of._ "Sure man, go ahead."

Kenny tried to look happy and smile while Butters took not one but three pictures, and as he was looking through them afterwards, Kenny bumped his shoulder and said: "Hey, I have an idea: how about a couple to remember me by besides how I look today? I probably look like shit right now."

"No you don't!" Butters replied with a faint smile. "You look beautiful, Ken." Kenny smiled back, took out his own phone and began scrolling through pictures he had saved on it while Butters watched, thumbing through several of himself taken at home, and one at the beach of him wearing only a pair of cutoffs. His skin was tanned golden bronze and the ocean and a lifeguard stand were visible in the background against a cloudless blue sky. Butters nodded at Kenny's phone and said, "I like that one."

"Give me your number and I'll send it to you." Butters recited his number and Kenny sent him that picture along with two more. Once Butters had looked through them, he called Kenny's phone back and sent him a single picture of himself. It looked like a junior high school class photo; he was about 14, not a hair on his head was out of place and he had a bright eager smile. He probably had no idea he was going to be in the Long Walk in a few years. Kenny looked up from it curiously.

"It—it's the best picture I have of me, Ken…in case you want something to look at while you're waiting to…get taken out of the race."

Kenny nodded grimly, looking down again at the picture Butters had sent. "Thank you."

"Kenny…if I'd met you before the Walk and we'd become friends…neither one of us would be here right now. You know?"

Kenny nodded. "We'd probably be in a school library together somewhere, studying. Or making out behind a bookshelf."

Butters smiled again, but it was sad and forced. "Thank you…for making the last two days of my life, y'know, the best two days I've ever had." He pulled Kenny's hand to his mouth so he could kiss the knuckles. "I love you, Ken. I'll _never_ forget you." His eyelids overflowed and Butters swiped angrily at his cheeks with his free hand. Kenny's own eyes swam with tears, mostly at the terrible irony of Butters' last words.

"I love you too, Leopold. Promise me you're going to win this." Butters nodded, and they walked onward together. Time went by much too quickly and soon Kenny looked down at his watch and said quietly. "I've got ten more minutes." He handed Butters his food ration bucket and added, "I've gotta go, man."

Butters nodded, looking grimly at the road. "Okay, Ken."

"Dude, I'd stop and give you a hug if you didn't already have two warnings." He squeezed Butters' hand, desperately wanting him to be all right. "Don't watch them do it, okay? Just…keep walking afterward. Don't stop for anything." He squeezed again. "All right?"

Butters finally turned to him and nodded. "Okay, Ken." He swiped angrily at the tears in his eyes. "I love you…thank you for being my friend."

"I love you too, man." There was nothing else to say. Butters shook his head, turned away and began walking faster.

Kenny waited until Butters had gotten several dozen feet ahead of him and nonchalantly checked his watch. It was almost time; time to put on the greatest (or at least the most important) performance of his lifetime. He removed a roll of toilet paper from his backpack and stopped, sank to his knees and crossed his arms over his stomach, pinching his face into what he hoped was a convincing grimace of pain.

_"Warning! Second warning, number six!"_

Kenny closed his eyes for a moment, grateful for the few seconds of rest he was getting even as the crowd once again grew louder with anticipation of seeing another execution happen. He looked up, watching Butters walking away, hoping he would keep his promise and not look back to watch.

Someone in the crowd yelled "Uh oh!" and began singing, raucous and off-key, to the tune of the 'Hallelujah Chorus': "Diiii….uh _ree_ uh! Diarrhea! Die—"

_"Shut up!"_ Butters shrieked, putting his hands over his ears. This incited others to join in the song, and one of the singer's drunk buddies to call out. "Talk about a shitty way to die!"

Kenny rose to his feet and began walking again, forcing himself to stay in character as he held his hands over his stomach in mock pain while looking at his watch out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the exact moment he needed to stop again and get his third warning. Several people from the front of the crowd began following him along the sidelines, hoping to see him get shot right in front of them. Kenny ignored them, focusing on Butters and hoping he wouldn't take the crowd's bait and slow down (and get another warning) to scream at them again. Still more people began singing along with the first heckler, and Kenny wondered if this was what Jesus felt like when he was carrying the cross. Butters was still walking, despite the cruel taunts coming from the spectators.

What he hadn't counted on was Cartman, who had spotted Kenny's 'distress' and zeroed in on Butters like a hawk to its prey. "Uh oh…doesn't look like your boyfriend's going to be around to protect you anymore."

"Just go away," Butters replied tearfully. "Go away…or I'll call out to the soldiers—"

"I'm not anywhere near you!" Cartman said loudly. "I'm not doing anything except talking to you! And you know what? Once they shoot your boyfriend, I'm going to take a warning just so I can run back there and piss all over his brains!" Cartman shouted gleefully. "Hell! I'll take _two_ warnings, just to see the look on your face while I'm doing it."

_"Just shut up and leave me alone!"_ Butters screamed, stopping in the middle of the road and pressing his hands against the sides of his head. Kenny wanted to scream at him, or run after him and tell him to get moving again, but there was too much riding on this…

_"Warning! Third warning, number 12!"_

There were two soldiers walking a few feet away from Kenny, one holding his gun pointed at the ground while the other stared at his own watch while Cartman continued to badger Butters relentlessly. Kenny wanted to murder Cartman, but he had less than five seconds, which quickly dwindled to nothing… and then it was time and Kenny grabbed his stomach and knelt again. His timing was absolutely perfect.

_"Third warning, number six!"_ the soldier said into his megaphone, lowering it again and staring at his watch. Kenny squeezed his eyes almost shut, squinting at Butters while clutching his stomach and trying to block out the sounds around him. Cartman was merciless as he continued to berate Butters.

"Why don't you just sit down?" he asked, a dreadfully pleasant tone creeping into his voice. "Maybe his soul will stick around and wait, and you can enter the pearly gates together."

_"Shut UP!"_ Butters shrieked, pressing his hands against his ears even harder.

"There now…it won't be so bad. You won't feel a thing…" Butters was staring at him as if he were hypnotized, and by God it looked like he was about to actually sit down—

His last seconds were slipping away; both soldiers raised their rifles toward his head. Kenny could see one of the soldier's fingers slipping the safety off as he prepared to fire. Butters was looking at his feet, and even from this far away it was obvious to Kenny that he was calculating how to fold his knees and sit—

The second soldier had released the safety from his own rifle and now there was seconds left.

Kenny surged to his feet and began running, ignoring the surprised looks of the two soldiers who had been about to shoot him and the roar of the crowd at this unexpected turn of events as he rapidly closed the distance between himself and Butters. Cartman's head turned and he took a surprised step back when he saw Kenny approaching, drawing a warning of his own.

_"Get away from him!"_ Kenny shouted when he was still ten feet away, all too aware that he had three warnings and if he slowed down again he would be shot immediately, as would Butters. "Leave him alone, you miserable disgusting piece of _shit!_ " He had to remind himself that punching Cartman would get him shot as well. "From now on, you don't talk to him, you don't look at him…" He caught up to Butters and grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the spot he was about to sit down. "Walk, damn it!"

"Kenny?" Butters shouted, staring at him in horror. "What are you doing?!" It wasn't until that instant that Kenny fully realized what he had done; even if he sat down right _now_ and let the soldiers shoot him, the most his dad could win was a few thousand bucks from a smaller runner up prize. The billion dollars he had entered this to win was now out of reach.

Kenny turned to look at him, the gravity of what he'd just done evident on both their faces.

"Kenny…you didn't have to do that."

"Yeah…I did." At Butters' sad look, he continued: "Dude…you were about to get shot! I wasn't going to let that happen. This was _my_ choice to make."

Butters looked miserable. "Kenny, I didn't want you to—"

Kenny held up a hand, cutting him off. "This is what you're going to do for me," he said seriously. "You _are_ going to win this. And when you get all that money? You're going to go find my family and help them, all right? Hell, give them a billion dollars if it'll make you feel better about this." He forced himself to smile. "But don't give it to my dad, give it to my brother, Kevin. Butters…I'm _glad_ I did what I did, okay? I'm going to walk with you as long as I can…but _you_ are the one that's going to win." He squeezed Butters' arm. "You got that?"

Butters was staring at him, wide-eyed. "Okay…" he finally said, once again reaching to take Kenny's hand. And the Long Walk continued.

**OOO**

They managed to walk off all three of their warnings without incident and they continued walking into the afternoon. Kenny and Butters celebrated having their last warning taken away three hours later by eating their lasagna portions. Cartman was still making his way among the walkers, avoiding Kenny and telling anyone else who would listen to "be ready", and the soldiers would occasionally call out a warning to someone who had slowed down. Two things happened to break up the monotony of the otherwise uneventful afternoon.

Just before 3:30, one of the soldiers in a jeep 50 feet ahead raised a megaphone and called: _"Warning! Second warning, number eleven!"_

Kenny and Butters both craned their necks trying to see who had just received a second warning. Kenny spotted him first, and the only reason he didn't see him sooner was that number eleven wasn't among the people walking; he was down on the asphalt on his side, his eyes half closed and unaware and his legs and body twitching rhythmically.

"Oh no," Butters whispered once he'd spotted him too. "He's having a seizure!"

The crowd was cheering and screaming louder, many of them holding cameras in front of their faces. One of the jeeps came to a halt and two soldiers emerged from it and approached the boy thrashing in the middle of the highway.

"Oh Jesus, they're going to shoot him, even though he can't help it!" Butters said, his voice barely audible above the noise of the crowd.

"Don't watch this," Kenny replied, grabbing his arm and urging him to walk faster. "Just watch the road." They were close enough now that Kenny could read the name tag around his neck (11—Stoley), and he hoped that Butters was looking away, as if knowing the last name of this kid would make it more personal or something.

_"Warning! Third warning, number eleven!"_

They were walking past him now, close enough to hear his boots hitting the pavement again and again as he thrashed with no one to help him. Kenny let go of Butters arm and reached down to take his hand again, urging him to walk even faster. Butters squeezed his fingers and matched his pace as they hurried on, while Kenny silently counted down the seconds.

Two gunshots rang out and the crowd screamed as one. Kenny squeezed Butters' hand and said, "Don't look back." It had been the closest execution to them since the very first one only six miles into the walk. That already seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I'm not going to," Butters replied resolutely and they walked on.

Not fifteen minutes later, Kenny felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He removed it and read the display: _Incoming call from: Dad._

"Ah shit," Kenny said, squeezing Butters' hand and then releasing it. "I need to answer this."

Butters looked up from Kenny's phone at him anxiously. "I'm sorry, Kenny."

"Dude! Don't be…okay? I already told you: It was my choice to do this. Look, um…I'll see you soon." He sped up, moving away from Butters so he could talk privately. He answered the call and said "Hi dad."

"I could fucking kill you right now, Kenny," his dad snarled angrily from the phone. Kenny smirked.

"Yeah dad, okay. I'll tell you what." He craned his neck looking at the highway ahead. "I'm about to pass mile marker 209. Why don't you come down here, walk right out onto the highway and kill me. Let's see how that works out for both of us, okay?"

There was dead silence from the phone. Kenny wanted to end this quickly, so he jumped into the silence before his dad could gather his thoughts. "You know what you should do, dad? Go find a bookie somewhere who's still taking bets, and put a big one on me, that I'm going to be the last person to get shot. That's one I guarantee you'll win." With that he turned off his phone and made his way back to Butters again.

Something had occurred to him halfway through that call: He had died more times than he could count, sometimes in the most painful ways imaginable. The very worst is burning to death, and having endured that more than once, his pain threshold was considerably higher than that of most peoples. Literally walking himself to death, even if he was starving as well, couldn't possibly be any worse.

Kenny made up his mind to do everything he possibly could to make sure Butters won this year's walk.


	6. MILES 272 - 360

CHAPTER SIX: MILES 272 – 360

By the morning of their fourth day, Kenny's body barely felt like it belonged to him anymore; his legs felt like they were moving under him of their own volition, and his feet felt like two blocks of wood. They'd gone beyond pain into a realm of numbness that was somehow worse. He and Butters had gotten their daily meal rations a few minutes ago and were listlessly sorting through them. Even though he didn't feel even slightly hungry, Kenny squirted a thick gob of the meatloaf paste on his finger and sucked it into his mouth. He kept eating, and before he knew it he had eaten the entire contents of the tube, where it sat in his stomach like a ball of lead.

He dropped the empty tube on the highway and took a sip of water. "I shouldn't have done that," he said, swallowing forcefully a few times, trying not to throw up. Butters gave him a sympathetic look.

"Would you like a Tums?" he asked, and Kenny laughed.

"Jesus dude…no thanks. Is there anything you don't have in that backpack?"

"I'm pretty sure I didn't bring a new pair of feet, Kenny. That's what I'm going to need to keep going much longer, I think."

Stan and Kyle made their way over to them a few minutes later. "How are you guys holding up?" Kyle asked. His once vibrant red hair was dull, like ancient straw, and his cheekbones jutted out prominently. Stan sneezed beside him and let go of Kyle's hand to blow his nose into a dirty tee shirt.

"I've been better," Kenny answered honestly. "I've gotten to the point where I'm asking myself what the hell I was thinking."

Kyle nodded his understanding and Stan sneezed again. The day somehow passed. There was little talking after that, as just continuing to walk seemed to take all their strength and focus. Kenny didn't think he'd be able to follow along with even a simple conversation anyway. By the afternoon, he found himself struggling to stay awake; little bits and pieces of dreams began superimposing themselves over the nightmarish reality of having to keep walking. Night fell, and the garish spotlights from behind them once again lit the night, throwing long shadows on the highway ahead and making everything seem even more unreal.

The line separating dreams and reality blurred together; at one point Kenny knew he was sleepwalking, yet his eyes were open so he could continue walking a straight line. Absolutely nothing felt real to him…which was why when several gunshots rang out simultaneously after no warnings had been given, Kenny wasn't sure for a moment if it was real or a nightmare.

"Come on you guys!" someone screamed and Kenny jolted fully awake. He realized it was Cartman, who had somehow grabbed a soldier's rifle and fired it into one of the jeeps. He pulled open the driver's door and dragged a body out from behind the steering wheel.

"Oh holy shit!" Kyle shouted. "He's fucking gone crazy."

A soldier standing behind another jeep took careful aim at Cartman and fired his rifle. Cartman's left leg collapsed under him and he fell. Several spotlights swung around to shine on him.

"What?" Butters screamed beside him, looking around frantically. "What's happening, Kenny?"

Kenny watched four soldiers swarm onto Cartman, pinning his arms and legs to the ground while a fifth stood over him aiming a rifle at his right knee. By the time Kenny realized what was happening, it was too late to look away. The rifle roared with a sound Kenny was sure he could see as well as hear. The screams that followed immediately afterward were inhuman.

"Jesus Christ!" Stan cried, turning away from the sight with both hands pressed hard over his mouth. Butters had his hands mashed against his ears trying to block out the screams even as his head was turned to watch.

"I knew there was something wrong with him," Kyle said loudly. "Oh my God, I knew it."

"Yeah, he was fucking crazy," Tucker said, removing his earbuds to talk to them. "He actually thought we were all going to attack the soldiers just because he asked us to, without having any kind of real plan or anything."

Kenny reached for Butters' hand and pulled him closer. "Don't look at that, man." Butters nodded and turned around again, and they continued walking toward their own elongated shadows. The screams were terrible enough, but even worse were the cries of "you guys?" that soon followed. They were the sound of someone who had lost everything, crying out into an empty void.

It took twenty minutes to walk far enough to not be able to hear the screams anymore.

**OOO**

By dawn of the next morning, Kenny realized this would be their last sunrise. None of them would be able to walk long enough to see another one; the only question was who would be the last one standing when this was finally over.

Kenny looked around at the dwindling group of walkers. Besides himself and Butters, the only ones left now were Stan and Kyle, Tucker, and a blond boy Kenny had never spoken to and hadn't really paid the slightest attention to the entire time, walking on the opposite side of the highway.

He turned to look at Butters, who almost looked like he was sleepwalking. Practically overnight his face had become a death mask; his skin was stretched tight and his once beautiful blue eyes were faded and dull. They were half open now, blank, while he walked blindly ahead. Faint white fuzz covered his chin and cheeks.

Kenny turned at a movement behind him, and Butters woke up as well. The blond Kenny had spotted a moment ago (15 – Tweak) had drifted closer to them. His eyes were a brilliant emerald green, now sunken deep in their sockets from starvation; Kenny felt Butters' hand reach for his as Tweak's eyes settled somewhere between them. Tweak's lips were twitching, and Kenny realized he was trying to say something, and he leaned in closer to listen.

"Oh my God," Tweak moaned, suddenly more than loud enough to hear; his eyes seemed to be pleading with them for something, understanding perhaps. "I'm in hell."

"We all are, buddy," Butters told him, and Tweak shook his head vigorously in negation.

"Nuh—no!" He shook his head vigorously, speaking in a whisper that was somehow both quiet and shrill. "I don't care if I die…" He waved his hands around his face as if trying to ward off a swarm of mosquitoes. "I…I'm ready to just sit down and quit! Buh…but I don't think I'll be able to sit there for ninety whole seconds." His voice dropped even lower, as if he was afraid someone else would overhear. "I'm afraid I might get up and try to run away. Then they'll shoot me in the knees like they did to number four."

Kenny nodded, lost for words. This kid was in bad shape, but Kenny didn't believe there was anything he could do for him.

Tweak continued, in that same shrill whisper: "I've been listening to you guys, all this time. I'm sorry!" His entire body was wracked with a violent shudder. "I didn't want to eavesdrop…but I couldn't help it. And…I wish I could have made a friend here so I could have had someone to walk with too. And now it's too late."

"You can walk with us now if you want," Butters told him, and Kenny squeezed his hand.

Tweak looked like he was about to start crying. "I—I can't walk anymore!" He sounded both hyper and exhausted. "No one's going to miss me if I lose…but at least I made a difference to somebody…I'm the only walker who didn't get a single warning the whole time!" There was pride, very faint but there, behind the deathly fatigue in his voice. "Someone must have bet on that and made a lot of money because of me, right?"

"You didn't get one warning the entire walk?" Kenny asked incredulously. He didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't think that was something people could bet on. "That's pretty amazing, dude."

"We get our meal rations in about ten minutes," Tweak continued, as if Kenny hadn't said anything. "Once I get mine, I'm just going to sit down and take my three warnings and quit." His hand reached out, claw-like, and latched onto Kenny's arm while his eyes searched Kenny's desperately. "I'll give you my rations if you'll sit with me for my last thirty seconds."

"Oh, dude…" Kenny said, horrified at the idea. He'd considered the possibility of having to do this for Butters in the coming hours; if it finally came to that he planned to sit down with him. The idea of taking even one warning for a total stranger seemed too much. But he felt his hand being squeezed and turned to look at Butters who was giving him a hopeless look. _You can't say no to that,_ it seemed to be trying to convey. Kenny nodded and turned back to look at Tweak.

"Okay," Kenny told him, and Tweak's eyes flooded with relief as he realized Kenny was going to help him. "Get your food ration and go on ahead of us a ways and then sit down. I'll sit next to you right before you get your third warning, all right?"

Tweak nodded gratefully. "Okay, man. Thank you."

"Make sure you get far enough ahead of us," Kenny emphasized. "I'm only going to take one warning for you, okay?"

Tweak looked down toward his boots; one of the heels was coming loose, flopping against the blacktop with each step. "All right," he said humbly. "I'm going to get started." And with that he sped up, quickly leaving Kenny and Butters behind. Kenny thought there was relief in the way he was walking, as if his legs could tell they would be able to rest soon, and marveled at what they had all been reduced to.


	7. MILES 360 - 385.3

CHAPTER SEVEN: MILES 360 – 385.3

Promptly at 9:00 just as they'd done all week, the soldiers began handing out daily food rations, starting with the slower walkers behind Kenny and working their way forward. Since there were only six of them left, it took almost no time at all. Kenny and Butters each took a bucket and a canteen, and watched as a jeep roared ahead to bring rations to Tweak, who was now over one hundred feet ahead of them.

"That's really nice, what you're doing for him, Ken." Kenny again marveled at how he had practically turned into an old man overnight. He shook his head. "I think I might need you to do that for me a little later."

Kenny nodded sadly. "I know, dude. How about…let's cross that bridge when we get to it though, okay?"

They both turned to face forward and watch as Tweak took his ration bucket from a soldier and turned to look back at them. A moment later he sat down in the middle of the road, followed by the inevitable _"Warning! First warning, number fifteen!"_

Kenny looked down at his watch. Even with his mind barely functioning, he thought he should be able to time this almost perfectly, and sped up a little after Tweak got his second warning, arriving where Tweak was sitting just as a soldier was raising a megaphone to call out his third. He sat down beside the blond boy and put his arm around him, pulling him close, ignoring the soldier who gave him his own first warning.

"It feels really good to sit down," Tweak said quietly. He was trembling. "And oh my God, I'm scared."

MaudW

"I know, man," Kenny replied, trying to sound as comforting as he could. "It's going to all be over soon." He felt Tweak nod, and reached up to rub his shoulder. "You're going to see a bright light soon; maybe you already can? When you do, go toward it. It's the most beautiful place in the universe."

Tweak looked at him wonderingly. "You've been there, haven't you?" His voice was suddenly perfectly calm, all the shrillness from before replaced with an almost eerie serenity. Kenny had seen this before, watching other people when they knew death was coming for them. Tweak was beginning to see glimpses of the afterlife that lie ahead.

"Many times. You can tell, can't you?"

Tweak's eyes were huge. "And I can see the light, too." A ghost of a smile played over his lips. "Oh God, it _is_ beautiful."

Behind him, two soldiers raised their guns, and one of them nodded his head at Kenny as if to say _Get out of the way_. Kenny glared up at them, careful to keep his body relaxed as he leaned in to kiss Tweak's temple and whisper in his ear. "You got this now, dude. It's all good." He stood up and had barely turned away when the guns roared, and Kenny heard the now familiar sound of a body hitting the road.

**OOO**

"I think Stan's getting pneumonia," Kyle said without preamble an hour later. Kenny looked over Kyle's shoulder at his friend. "He hasn't been feeling good since we got that rain…was it our first day?"

"Yeah, I think so," Kenny replied. Kyle was probably right; Stan looked terrible, shambling along in boots that were disintegrating, a mere shadow of the athletic boy he had been when Kenny first met him four days ago in what felt like another life.

"He's got ten minutes to go on a first warning," Kyle told him. "And once he's walked that off, we're both free…and we're going to sit down together and wait."

Kenny and Butters were speechless. Kenny wished he could think of something comforting to say and couldn't.

"We wanted to ask you something," Kyle went on, speaking to Butters now. "Would it be all right if we have your trash bag? We were gonna ask you if we could borrow it, but kind of figured you wouldn't want it back afterward…"

Kenny had been thinking _after we have sex in it_ and then realized what he really meant was after we both get shot in it.

"We just want to sit together, and be able to shut out the rest of the world while we wait," Kyle finished miserably and fell silent, waiting for an answer.

"Of course," Butters replied. "I won't be needing it anymore." He reached into his backpack, removed the trash bag and handed it over. Kenny gave it a nostalgic look as Kyle took it and folded it under his arm.

"Thanks man," Stan said, joining them and wiping his nose on a tee shirt. "You know…I kind of wish I could have gotten to know you guys better."

"I think we all would have been really good friends in another life," Kenny replied and Stan nodded agreeably.

They walked quietly after that until Stan's warning had been lifted. Afterward, he reached out to shake Kenny's hand. "Glad I got to know you, Kenny Cramer," he said and Kenny smiled.

"You too, Stan Marsh." Kyle tucked the trash bag under his arm so he could shake Kenny's hand as well. "Now…why don't you two go out with the biggest bang the Long Walk has ever seen."

Stan shook his head sadly and reached for Kyle's hand. "Nah," he said and sneezed. "Much as I'd like to, I think we're just going to sit down together. Kyle…?"

They said their goodbyes and Kenny and Butters walked away, speeding up even more when the inevitable _"Warning! First warnings, numbers three and nine!"_ was called. They both turned around to look for a moment; Stan and Kyle had sat down in the middle of the highway together and put the trash bag completely over themselves and were obviously holding each other underneath it. The crowd showed remarkable restraint, watching mostly in silence as their second and third warnings followed, and even when the inevitable gunshots rang out thirty seconds later there was none of the celebratory cheering that had followed all the previous executions.

Kenny and Butters had long since looked away again and walked on. Kenny could sense that this long nightmare was almost over.

**OOO**

With Stan and Kyle gone, that left only Tucker for them to outlast, and he appeared tireless. He repeatedly ignored Kenny's attempts to speak with him to try to gauge how he was doing, and Kenny finally resigned himself to a long afternoon of trying to walk Tucker down while finding a way to somehow keep Butters going as well.

By 3:30, Butters had progressed from a slight limp to full on lurching, and even leaning on Kenny wasn't enough and he drew a first warning. He was staring at Kenny helplessly, and when Kenny reluctantly met his eyes he shook his head sadly.

"Kenny? I—I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

"Dude…just a little longer, okay?"

Butters closed his eyes and shook head again. "No, Kenny…my feet are bleeding, they really hurt. I…just want to sit down and rest now."

Kenny regarded him sadly for a long moment. Despite his best efforts, he'd failed. Butters wasn't going to make it, and he saw no reason for him to keep going afterwards.

"All right, Butters. We'll…we'll sit down together, okay?" Butters nodded, relieved that he wouldn't be doing this last part alone. "I'm just going to go try and tell Tucker he won, all right?"

Butters smiled at him, relief that he could rest soon evident in his face. Kenny nodded and turned to walk toward Tucker just in time to see him lurch drunkenly and fall, his head hitting the road with a sound like a melon being dropped. His feet jerked a couple times as if he was still trying to walk and then lay still.

_"Warning! Second warning, number fourteen!"_

"Oh my God," Butters whispered, having witnessed Tucker's unexpected collapse as well. Tucker wasn't moving at all now; he appeared to be dead already. "He's not going to be able to get up from that…"

Kenny turned back to Butters incredulously. Butters was staring at him, trying to piece together what was happening, but one thing was apparent: Everything had just changed.

"Butters…you know what this means, right…?"

The confusion in Butters' eyes slowly gave way to understanding, and then quickly changed to horror. He began shaking his head in negation.

"Yeah, dude. It's time for you to win this thing."

_"Third warning, number fourteen!"_

"Kenny, no, we can still sit down together—"

"No, we _can't,"_ Kenny replied at once, sharper than he intended. He tried to soften his voice as he added, "Not anymore; we're past that point now. Only one of us can win…and it's going to be you."

Butters was staring at him, horrified. "Oh, Kenny, no…"

"Yes," Kenny repeated. "It's time, dude. When we first entered this, we knew only one of us would win…" Kenny stopped walking, grabbed Butters and pulled him into a hug. "I love you man...but you've got to do this last part by yourself."

" _Warning! First warning, number six; second warning, number twelve."_

"Kenny," Butters moaned, and they clung to each other desperately, Kenny pulling him as close as he could and burying his face in his hair to breathe in his scent one last time. Two gunshots rang out behind them a moment later.

"Remember what I said," Kenny whispered as the echoes faded. "Go find my family and help them." He felt Butters nod against his shoulder and was glad he had been able to make this final connection, even though Butters would probably forget all about him and his request by this time tomorrow. Just as the soldier raised his megaphone to give them their next warnings, Kenny shoved Butters away from him and shouted, "Now, _go!"_

Kenny took two steps back and sat down, watching as Butters stared at him longingly for another moment, then resolutely turn and walk away.

_"Second warning, number six!"_

"Oh, thank God," Kenny whispered as he watched Butters retreating from him without getting a third warning. The sky was glowing bright white now, filling the world with the color of burning magnesium. The pavement was still rough under his hands and the footsteps of the approaching soldiers were much too loud but it no longer mattered. His own third warning was eclipsed by the brilliant light filling everything and the joy that he knew lay just beyond. When the two soldiers raised their rifles and Kenny was looking into the barrels of both, he couldn't help but smile.

The guns roared; Butters screamed and collapsed to the highway immediately afterward, shouting Kenny's name over and over, his cries drowned out by the sounds of the crowd as well as an approaching helicopter. The soldiers quickly moved in to surround him, several of them firing warning shots into the air while others aimed their rifles at the crowd as people began to rush onto the highway.

"Stay back!" one of the soldiers bellowed into a megaphone. Several more warning shots were fired and order was slowly restored.

The helicopter roared in from the west a few moments later, coming to a hurried landing twenty feet away and throwing up a large cloud of dust. Several of the soldiers crouched around Butters, who was cowering in terror by this point, trying to protect him from flying debris. The President of the United States emerged from the helicopter accompanied by four of his guards and a paramedic. The President hurried over to him and knelt on the highway beside his head, the paramedic kneeling right beside him while his guards took up positions around them. Cameras were trained on the scene from just behind the perimeter the soldiers had set up, broadcasting this moment to the world.

The President looked down at Butters and said, "Congratulations on winning this year's Long Walk, young man! Now that you can buy anything you could ever need, what do you want first?"

Butters looked up at the President, drew in a deep breath and screamed: "Kenny! I just want Kenny!"

The President looked up and nodded at the paramedic, who leaned in to slip a hypodermic needle into Butters' arm. Two of the guards accompanying the President swooped in the moment the needle was withdrawn, lifted Butters and carried him back toward the helicopter.


	8. EPILOGUE

CHAPTER EIGHT – EPILOGUE

When Butters woke up hours later in the hospital he was completely inconsolable, so his doctors put him into a medically-induced coma for four days while a feeding tube in his nose and I.V. lines in his arms began to nourish and rehydrate him while his feet began the long process of healing.

When he was woken up four days later, the first thing he asked for was that his parents be permanently barred from the hospital. Afterward, he lay in bed the rest of the afternoon staring out the window, refusing to allow anyone to see him except his doctors and nurses.

Just before 4:00 in the afternoon someone knocked on his door and called into the room: "Mister Stotch?"

Butters pulled his blanket higher over his head and replied, "Go away."

"I'm afraid I can't do that sir," the young man who was standing at his door said, walking into the room as if he belonged there. "I'm with the Government Central Bank, and I'm here to finalize the transfer of an extremely large sum of money to you. I can make an appointment to come back in an hour if you'd like, but that's the very best I can do. Or, we can just take care of this now."

Butters sighed. He was only now beginning to grasp what had happened to him over the last few days. He rolled onto his back and pulled his sheets higher over himself. "All right. Come on in."

The man was very kind and professional, taking close up pictures of Butters' eyes for retinal scanning ID and installing the appropriate software on Butters' phone. Afterward he showed Butters how everything worked, how to access his new bank account, and how to transfer money from it to anyone he wanted to.

Once he'd left, Butters once again lay back in bed, this time staring at his phone instead of out the window. The display he was looking at on the tiny LCD screen made no sense to him:

_Available Balance: $341,578,171,784.17_

He knew that number should make him feel happy, but no matter how long he looked at it, it meant nothing to him. The only thing he could think was: and 17 cents; one penny for every year I've been alive.

He switched to a news article about the Long Walk. The headline read in large bold type:

**ONLY 385.3 MILES THIS YEAR**

The first two sentences of the article read: _This year's Long Walk has ended after a very disappointing 103 hours and less than 400 miles covered. It seemed this year's participants simply lacked in spirit after the first was removed only six miles into the walk._

That was as far as Butters allowed himself to read. He turned off his phone and set it on the bedside table.

He knew he'd won the Long Walk, but he had almost no memory of having done so. He clearly remembered the months leading up to it, his father forcing him to walk four days a week when he just wanted to have fun and be a kid; but he remembered almost nothing of the walk itself. He remembered Stan and Kyle, who had grown really close during those four days (or was it five?), and who had been nice to him…and he remembered changing his socks a few times, and long nights walking beneath the stars for endless hours; but not much else.

He managed to fall asleep, and woke up again when an orderly brought him his first real dinner since the end of the Long Walk. It was a nice meal, Salisbury steak, potatoes, gravy and peas, but he barely picked at it. The same orderly came by an hour later to remove his tray and sat down in the chair next to the hospital bed to speak to Butters in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Hey, man. There's some guy in the lobby that bribed me with a really expensive bottle of scotch to get him past security so he can see you. He won't tell me his name, but he's really insistent…and he has your cellphone number, and has a picture of you on his phone, so…"

Butters was intrigued enough by this to ask that his mysterious visitor be allowed in. The orderly left the room, returning a minute later escorting Kenny, who walked into the room while the orderly waited by the door. Kenny was looking at him lying in bed hopefully, searching his face for any sign of recognition, which came a few moments later as a smile slowly spread across Butters' face.

"Kenny…?" Butters asked, sitting up straighter in the bed.

"Yeah, man," Kenny replied, sitting down in the chair next to him. "How are you feeling, dude?"

"I…I'm not doing so good, Ken," he said sadly. "I mean…you know I was in the Long Walk, right?" Butters looked around, seeming small and lost in the oversized room. "And I won…I'm rich!" He suddenly looked embarrassed. "I mean…of course you know that. It's why I'm in the hospital, after all."

"Of course I know that," Kenny replied, reaching to take one of Butters' hands in both of his. The orderly standing beside the door cleared his throat and Kenny looked at him. "We're good here, dude," and at Butters' nod he turned around and left. Kenny carefully squeezed Butters' hand and they sat quietly for a minute.

MaudW

"You'll have to remind me sometime where we met," Butters finally said. "I—I really can't remember a whole lot right now…"

Kenny smiled, barely managing to keep a look of overwhelming relief from his face. "So…you don't remember where we met; but do you remember how much we meant to each other?"

Butters nodded. "Of course! I—" he appeared confused for a moment. "I remember holding hands with you while we were walking somewhere…a beach maybe? Oh…I'm sorry Ken! I'll remember eventually…"

"Don't worry about it, man!" He pulled Butters' hand close to kiss his knuckles. "I don't mean to rush you."

"I remember being real sad when I thought I was never going to see you again," Butters said, looking more lost and confused than ever. "Are you going to stick around for a while?"

Kenny nodded. "Yeah, dude…I'll be around as long as you want me to be, actually. Um…I had a huge fight with my parents a couple days ago, and I'm pretty much homeless until I figure out what I'm going to do next." He left out the part where he'd been living in his parents' SUV for the last two days that he'd stolen at the same time as the bottle of scotch.

"Oh, you're not homeless, Kenny!" Butters said. "I mean…I got all this money now, and I'll be getting out of the hospital in a few days, and I'm going to need a place to live once I do. Why don't you come work for me? What if I put…I dunno…two million dollars in your bank account? Would that be enough for you to find a house for us to live in? I don't need anything real fancy." He was staring at Kenny with a desperately hopeful expression. "But I guess I'm going to need a wheelchair ramp, at least for a while. A—and a couple of bedrooms for us, and I want a big backyard so I can have a garden…and didn't you say you had a brother and sister you had to take care of? Will that be enough?"

_Two million dollars,_ Kenny thought, knowing that was both an insignificant drop in the bucket to Butters now as well as more money than he'd ever dreamed of having.

"Yeah, Butters. That's more than enough; but, um…how do you know I'm not just going to take your money and disappear?"

Butters' eyes narrowed. "Because I think I know you well enough to know you won't do that," he replied at once. "And besides, there's plenty more where that came from." Kenny smiled at that while Butters reached for his phone on the bedside table and began tapping on its screen. "Here." He said a minute later and handed Kenny his phone. "Go ahead and put your account number in."

Kenny did, and they said their good nights soon afterward. The last thing Kenny said before he left was "I'll get started on finding us a house first thing in the morning."

Once Kenny was gone, Butters transferred not two million but twenty million dollars into Kenny's bank account, wishing he could see his face when he went to check his balance next time. Then he put his phone away and settled back against the pillows, feeling at peace for the first time since he'd woken up. He realized it would take him a while to sort out everything that had happened, but he suddenly knew that between all the money he had now and Kenny, he had everything he could ever want.

MaudW

mio

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about adding a second epilogue to this, just some domestic fluff to end it on a more upbeat note.
> 
> Time to say thank you to some people :) First, a HUGE thanks to the two artists who made no less than nine illustrations for this story for the South Park Big Bang 2016, mio and Maud W. And to SekritOMG and everyone else behind the scenes for pulling off another excellent big bang.
> 
> And to my two betas: rensrenegade, who made several suggestions throughout the writing process that made much of the story better (especially the Tweek death scene); and StickofTruth, whose meticulous attention to detail kept me from falling (with style!) into a couple of pretty deep plot holes. Thanks all!


End file.
